Dreamer watched on in satisfaction as the massive planetary defences rapidly began to shift upwards. Four gargantuan missile silos opened up, dozens upon dozens of racks of large missiles pointing skywards. Heavy, lumbering anti-capital missiles were laying in wait next to swift anti-fighter ones, with the nimble and tiny interceptors tucked in between. Three laser batteries had fallen under their control as well, but they would not be able to make much use of those. Their Muninns could compensate for much, but such massive cannons would require more maintenance than the handful of Genesis could provide them with.

It would not matter. They had more than adequate firepower to deal with the threat. He turned his eyes towards space, his lenses overlapping and enhancing his sight. Even then the enormous, lumbering landers were nothing but tiny specks in the far distance. They were beginning to spread out. They had caught on to the plan, but it was too late. Once such ships entered atmosphere, the only way was down. Reversing direction required time and would slow them down to a crawl. So instead the Novicans settled for the one choice left to them; they were spreading out as much as possible and burned their engines to get planetside faster. Give the enemy as little time as possible to target them. Reports from the hijacked stations came in, alerting him that atmospheric fighters were being launched from the fleet as well. It would be irrelevant. The Novicans lacked the dedicated siege vessels that the Empire had. They had no eggs to throw down, had to deploy their troops on the ground before they could launch their gunships and other aircraft. And with the immediate airspace still clear, his one concern of a massed airborne assault by the local defenders not happening, the battle was decided well before the first shot was even fired.

Admiral Listranoi shouted orders as his fleet rapidly repositioned itself, powerful warships using thrusters to jockey themselves in position. Missile bays were opened and their cargo howled outwards without waiting for a synchronised firing order. There was no time. Sweat pearled down his face as he saw dozens of missile types streak down towards the planet, just as hundreds, then thousands of hostile ones streaked upwards. He didn't care what kind of ordnance he was throwing down. Missiles hundreds of meters long, meant to penetrate armour belonging to battleships or dreadnaughts would serve just as well as the narrow, fast-moving infamous Harrowers, meant to strike targets caught out in the open without shield cover. Over the radio he heard the seemingly calm voices of the pilots as they rapidly shunted out flares and hurled their unwieldy crafts in bone-creaking manoeuvres. They all knew the outcome, even as they fought it.

The shield layers on the planet winked out in phases, allowing each salvo through without compromising protection. They were slower than the barrage coming from his fleet, even with their need to plot firing solutions that would avoid their own craft. Gravity helped. And so the missile duel began in earnest well below the actual crafts. The towering heavies pounded their way through the sky, requiring several interceptors to hit them dead on before crumbling. Smaller missiles danced with interceptors, automated protocols guiding them as their onboard computers struggled to make them reach their targets. Hundreds of them collided in mid air, utterly demolishing one another. Dozens of heavy missiles broke through the barrage and continued their destructive path towards the groundbased silos, while hundreds more continued their path skywards, continuing their duel as more missiles screeched into the air as they left the vacuum of space. For a moment it seemed as though they might save some of the landers after all.

Then the first cannon fired and a heartbeat later a blue symbol representing a lander winked out. Listranoi did not curse, nor did he lament the thousands of men and women who had been murdered. He kept his attention on the living. To him, warfare was nothing but a game. A very thrilling, exciting and intense one, with countless lives at stake. Losses were not to be lamented, but to be taken into account and then moved on with. He knew he was viewed by many as dispassionate, but he didn't care. He was in it for the challenge and played accordingly. He viewed warfare as a chess board. Move a destroyer here, take a cruiser there. They were all pieces to him. They were his pieces though.

And he hated to lose.

Even now he kept barking orders as more missiles tore through the air and slammed into the defenceless landers. The craft simply couldn't outmanoeuvre the incoming barrage, their thrusters too weak to do much more than control their descent. Flares diverted a handful of missiles before they were burnt out and used up. Powerful laser beams cut through the air, punching through metal and shattering the fragile crafts' hull integrity. Men and women screamed as they were sucked out of the demolished craft Tanks, guns and gunships, all packed up and ready to rapidly disembark, were now torn loose from their moorings and tossed out into the air like oversized pieces of confetti.

His mind eyed the display and he raised his hand, ordering his vessels to cease fire. It was decided. His missiles had delayed the inevitable, but as the surviving landers got closer to the ground, the hostile attacks became more accurate as the vessels left the protective envelope of his ships. He blinked in surprise when he saw two blue dots slowly pick up speed again, but back upwards. He lowered his hand again, but amended his fire to focus on keeping those two landers safe. Two landers out of forty. A survival rate of five percent. Gods above, what a slaughter, he thought, shaking his head. Another beam shot up from the surface and tore apart one of the pair, just before they reached his own ships. Two point five percent, he amended. He couldn't have saved them. Pushing his ships any closer to atmosphere would have exposed them to the pull of the planet. And ships made for vacuum should not be deployed in atmosphere, no matter what movies might show.

He waited until he received confirmation that the lander was docked, then motioned for communications to connect him with the Nagalan HQ. "The landing has failed," he said, impassionately. "No troops landed. One landed retreated to safety aboard the fleet. The rest have been annihilated." He took a soft breath, his tongue touching his upper teeth, before he spoke again. "Why was I not made aware of the groundside development earlier?" he asked, a hint of emotion finally breaking into his cold voice.

Silence crackled over the coms. "They... The Imperials took us off guard with the speed of their advance," came the dejected answer.

"I see," was all Listranoi replied with. He closed the channel and gave his communications officer a curt nod. The man, a close aide to the Admiral and one of the man's confidantes, understood the minimalistic gesture and connected him through to the rest of the fleet, establishing a broad, but secure network.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Ground command has just cost us nearly the entirety of our accompanying ground force. They have proven themselves to be incompetent. We have lost nearly forty thousand men in the span of minutes." The Admiral let his words echo out. Nobody replied. All knew the man well. Uncaring about lives, seeing war as a complex game. Yet not without conscience. They knew he fought hard to retain all his pieces and sacrifice as few as possible. He did not care personally and would never be an inspiring leader because of this, but Listranoi had secured enough victories at marginal losses that he had earned his fleet's respect.

"We stand at a crossroads. We can continue our efforts to support the Confederacy. The Imperial fleet will no doubt show up sooner or later. Our nation betrayed them, declaring war on a juggernaut. We can face them. We can do our sworn duty and stand fast, and sooner or later, face utter annihilation like the army did just now. Lead by incompetents against a foe that doesn't tolerate the word within its own ranks." He let the words die out again. He felt drops of perspiration run down his back and was glad that none of his captains and commanders could see it. "Or, alternatively, we could leave. Novican Parliament declared war without our approval, betraying an alliance well over three centuries old. It is my opinion that, as such, our sworn oaths no longer bind us."

He fell still, suddenly no longer able to think of the correct words. He was a strategist, a planner. Speaking to an audience did not come easy to him. He was trying to find the right thing to say, to not let these words die out, when the orbital defence grid suddenly opened up, long streaks of fire descending onto the planet. His eyes widened in shock. Sure, ground command had requested an orbital bombardment several times, as insane as that was, but...

Suddenly the words clicked into place. "I'm leaving," he said. "I'm leaving Novican space. Imperial space. I'm not dying for this madness. You have all served honourably and as your leader, I am proud of you all. You are an example to your station. I hereby dismiss you from your duty. Sail as you see fit.

He closed the connection and walked back to the display. The words had felt right. Whether they were would be revealed in the next few moments. He glanced over at the officers closest to him. Loyal men. But to him or the Confederacy? Their eyes revealed their inner conflicts and he refused to break eye contact. He hoped they were convinced. He had little desire to die yet, be it by Imperial barrage or Novican firing squad.

Then the nods began. First his coms officer, then navigations. Gunnery. Observation. Engineering. All of them gave nods, certainty replacing doubt. He nodded back, swallowing down his relief. "Turn us around and get us the hell out here. Set a course for..." he hesitated, wondering where they'd go that the Empire wouldn't follow. "the Mul'a'mid Empire. They're embroiled in border conflicts, but I heard they treat their mercenaries well."

A round of "ayes" rang across the bridge as the dreadnaught began a slow tilt.

"They are leaving," Grevorich hissed between clenched teeth. It was a betrayal on a massive scale. Anger and rage flushed through his body, before a profound sense of relief replaced it. At least that way they couldn't lend their guns to this madness.

He was watching the orbital fire slam into the durable planetary shields. Energy meant to tear apart shields of capital ships and shred starship hulls screamed in agony as it forced itself through the atmosphere, bleeding energy and strength for every step gained. What crashed into the massive shields was much diminished, harmlessly dissipating into the field. It was a horrifying sight. Tens of thousands of soldiers were beneath those shields, surrounding a scant few hundred Imperials. If those shields would fall, all of them would die, along with the hundreds of thousands of civilians still in the area. Sitting underneath the shield the Imperials were firing back using the hijacked defences. Powerful lasers evaporated the sky as they launched themselves towards space, slamming into the orbital platforms. There too the shields writhed, but there too they held. Missiles flashed upwards, but they were but few. The Imperials weren't numerous enough to reload the missiles or properly manage the planetary lasers. He wondered if there were some civilians who regarded it as a pretty lightshow, rather than the catastrophic situation it really was.

"I can see that, Commander," Vosjlaw hissed back, shoving the man aside. "Come in Admiral Listranoi." He tapped his fingers across the metal display, listening to the gentle static of an unanswered coms channel. "Answer me, dammit!"

"Sir," Nayasi interrupted. "I spot several vessels abandoning the fleet and approaching the planet. Spotting a lot of inter-ship communications going on. Heavily encrypted.

"Contact them," Vosjlaw ordered, his voice straining with barely withheld anger, much to Grevorich' hidden bemusement. "And get them to tell me what the hell is going on up there? "

"Still convinced your plan is going to work, Vosjlaw?" the Commander taunted.

"It will," he snapped. Then, more calmly. "It is." He gestured towards the planetary display. They're pinned down. All over. Forced to keep control of the shield complexes just to survive. They can't advance any longer. They're trapped."

"Along with millions of our own m—" he began, before Vosjlaw's armoured gauntlet pulled the man out of his chair, his throat squeezed shut.

"It is necessary," he spat. "How many have we lost already? How many will we lose if you keep being indecisive?" His eyes glanced back to the display, where the orbital platforms were flashing a deep red as they rained fire and destructions down on a planet, only a thin layer of protective energy barring their way. Sooner or later those shields would buckle. The Imperials couldn't refuel.

Then he spotted several stations that were still coloured a faint blue and he tossed the commander out of his way, the old man sliding across the floor before coming to a violent stop as he hit a console. "Contact those stations! And keep pinging those ships! We're going to crush these Imperials, no matter the damned cost!"

Grevorich tried to laugh. Oh how foolish had he been when he had once said those words himself, that moment now feeling like an eternity ago. He had been willing to give his own life for the cause. He still was. But this? This wanton slaughter, this senseless murder of civilians?

He slowly climbed back to his feet. He ignored Vosjlaw angry shouts as he tried to force the remaining platform commanders to start firing at the planet they were supposed to protect. He ignored Nayasi's whispered words as she conversed with the few ship captains that weren't heading to the edge of the gravity well. He shut out Vosjlaw's howls as Listanroi's desertion was announced, winced as the howls came even louder as several ships of the defence fleet began to turn about as and abandon their posts as well. He had a duty to perform. He had to stop this madness. An orbital bombardment on their own population. He had somehow never fully believed that Vosjlaw would have actually gone through with it. Even as the man had tried to convince the others, he had believed that common sense would prevail.

Now...

Now it was time for him to do his own oath justice.