Operation Golden Dawn Pt. 2

If Nuclear Weapons don't solve your problems...

Deep within the not-basalt armored ziggur-nought at the core of the hive-fleet a cold fungal awareness takes note and paused.

**Is that the Sixteenth Psyche?** it mused. **Of course it is. Well Played Adamlings, well played.**

From the surface of Pluto's newly arrived orbital neighbor burned hundreds of new contacts. Each of the monitors of this task force are consisted of an outer-shell of asteroid harvested nickel-iron. Each spin-forged metallic oblong hollow void is covered in blisters and pock-marks. These are are point defense clusters, kinetic-barrier projectors, and synthetic radar arrays. These giant hollow-point bullets are internally filled with water for heat-sink and re-mass. Within the water-filled center of the iron-monitors lies a command module, once nuclear submarines in previous lives, now lifted into orbit and gifted second lives in the fight for Man's destiny.

They are manned by their old crews hastily retrained in schools newly established on Fortress Luna. Leading the charge of these tin-can sailors are the Mont St. Michael class mobile fortresses. Kilometer scale rocky asteroid bodies propelled by nuclear impulse pusher-plates, bristling with defense-screen projectors, railguns, autocannon, missile silos, and laser batteries. Mont Sante Michael herself leads at the tip of the spear, her armored gothic prow lovingly gilded by her crew's ecstatically voluntary crew. A great brass bell ensconced in pale ivory tower above the sloping prow-beak and inscribed with the prayers of Earth's faithful, silently tolling away in the airless void.

“War, war, war!”

Deep within Psyche's metallic depths lies a fortified chamber. This chamber is the nerve-centre of Task Force Gorgon, the combined flotilla of secretive Black Guards and UN Spacey forces. They are tasked with finding, engaging, and fixing the Yuggothim fleet in the area of Plutonian orbit as the opening gambit of Operation Golden Dawn. This so-called Black Chamber is alive with multitudinous voices calling out status reports on all manners of martial minutia greedily consumed by the Task Force command staff. At the eye of this storm of activity stands a silent presence, the still axis about which the entire task force turns.

Subcommander Samantha Shepherd adjusted the AR glasses made stylishly mandatory by the Black Guard's mysterious Overcommander. Her movement masked the internal riot with which her stomache and intestines protested the in-system jump. She sighed internally at the ridiculousness of the mask of command, and then resumed her position of parade rest. She surveyed her department heads arrayed along either side of the central holographic command table and then she demanded something of the suddenly still before the storm room.

“Status,” she said.

“All parasite and task-force craft accounted for, jump-transition successful” reported her XO. A promising Black Guards Undercommander named JC Stirling.

“Jump Drive?”

The tall dark Undercommander paused and grimaced at the question, “Engineering department reports that the in-system jump has overloaded their systems. They're still putting out the fires and many of the Navigation-Psions are unconscious. Not unexpected however and they estimate returning to operational status in hours provided no further damage to those systems.”

“Very well, Opfor?”

At this UC Stirling smiled, “Operation Rope-a-dope was a complete success, we have achieved tactical surprise or at least the workable facsimile thereof.”

Subcommander Shepherd returned the smile, shark-like and predatory. “Very well, Guns, you may demonstrate to these benighted xeno-bastards the fire-power of this fully armed and operational battle-station. Comms, make signal to Command as follows; 'Tora! Tora! Tora! Case Opera Dawn'. Flight, launch all squadrons. Ops, task force is to advance to contact, all elements are weaps-free to engage within envelopes.”