WAR!! Pt 2 (Patreon)

[X] Plan: Ready to Respond

-[X] System Edge

--[X] TKK Valiant

--[X] TKK Endeavor-B

-[X] Outer Rim

--[X] TKK Spirit of Toxel

((((()))))

Resources exist to be consumed. And consumed they will be, if not by this generation then by some future. By what right does this forgotten future seek to deny us our birthright? None I say!

-Ethics of Greed, Alpha Centauri

Greed is Eternal.

-Ferengi Rule of Acquisition Number 10

((((())))))

It took thirty five minutes. This was as expected.

What wasn’t was where they emerged. As Wurf sat, he waited for the enemy to emerge: he had prepared by assigning both BlokBot contingents to reinforce the most heavily populated worlds in both th’ H’keks and H’kanns territ-ry. The rest of the fleet has positioned itself in the outer rim and system edge.

The plan was simple. They were gonna ambush the gitz. Moment they exited the Warp, they’d get lit up by torps, den th’ Valiant would move in fer mop up or engagement. Fings didn’t go t’ plan, however.

An alarm sounded, and his science officer let out a cry of alarm. “Captain, we’re reading contact over Kanns Krown!” Lt. Periss cried, and Wurf let out a serious series of swears. ‘Ow da zog ‘ad they slip past them?! Stealf Tek? No, no, they would have detected them coming out of warp. Zoggin’ zogs, they ‘ad been completely outmanuevered. “It looks like they’re CHEWING through the H’kann fleet!” The ‘ooman said with horror.

“Get this ship turned around right bleedin’ now!” Wurf roared. “Get me th’ H’kann and H’kek on the line!”

“On it, sir,” Came the voice of his Comms officer, and a moment later, two different visages appear. One was the leader of the H’kek fleet: their jutting, extremely square jaw grinding in frustration, their froglike sized eyes located on either size of their head rapidly blinking. The grey skinned alien was clearly agitated, though he was remarkably composed in spite of it. Captain Strongarm. The other, the leader of the H’kann, currently seated in a shadowed room, the glare of the screen the only illumination to reveal a creature with a large head far disproportionate to their withered body, seated in some sort of mechanical apparatus that appeared as if a mix of life-support pod and cockpit, their slick skin appearing a strange green from the glow of the computer screen, their dinnerplate sized eyes locked in an expression of absolute rage, their small, spike toothed mouth curled into a snarl. Captain Garagrimm.

“Wurf, good to see you. I was hoping you’d scare em off, but it looks like we’re gonna get a look at how yer technology holds up in a fight,” Strongarm said. “I’m joining the relief fleet, then we’ll link up, see if’n we kin stonewall these var’mants.”

“These F’grim are tearing our fleet apart!” Garagrimm snarled, the captain rapidly typing on their console, the keys making a loud claking noise as she slammed them down, her chest rapidly rising and falling. “I am counting…eizen…dreizen…I am counting fifty ships! We are outgunned and outnumbered!” In the background, ‘e heard an explosion, an’ watched as somefin caused the camera and the captain both the shake, the H’kann letting out a shriek of alarm.

“Keptin, she isn’t lyin! We’re countin’ a lot o’ ships! Most of em look t’ be o’ the Monitor class tonnage! Armament seems t’ be medium sized torpedoes an’ some kinda magnekeklly akselerated spike doowhatchamacall it,”

Oh krap baskets, that wasn’t good: even if they didn’t match up t’ a full Endeavor, dat was a LOT of gunz, an’ worse, it wuz physikul: even if it missed th’ fleet, ‘e didn’t want t’ what’d happen if that ordinance ‘it a planet. “I want all power t’ the engines!”

((((()))))

The city shook. MGTRN fired his gun, releasing a blast of nuclear plasma, the heat intense enough to distort the air around his gun into a strange haze. His enemies screamed as they were reduced hot atoms by the blast randomizing their molecules in an inferno of particle alchemy. Vitals cease. Continue. The cloud-station consisted of a sphere, floating on the middle layers of the atmosphere, where the pressure was sufficient to turn the gas it floated on into a thick, almost gelatinous soup. It was hollow: above him, the Machina could see a swarm of gunships, bots, drones in the air, and they knew that outside the city the battle was raging all across the very atmosphere.

Their enemy rode in airships that resembled blood-rusted barges, their outsides caked in dried gore. All across them they had strange port-holes, out of which emerged strange lights that grabbed whoever they touched and dragged them towards the Portholes. Even as the Machina put his fist through the faceplate of the hulking alien groundtrooper all the way through the back of their skull, they watched, somewhat detached, as one of those many barge-lights passed over an unwitting H’kann soldier that had been wielding a BioPak to fight, the alien being lifted, flailing as they grabbed onto a streetlight as the tractor beam tugged on them. “No no no! You want me dead, F’grim? You choke on me!” The soldier yelled as they let go to reach for their belt, finding them dragged into the porthole. With mild horror and moderate fascination MGTRN watched as his scanners and sensors showed the barge shredding the alien, releasing a spray of gore as the still screaming H’kann was ground into his constituent biomatter.

A moment later, the ship shuddered, and the light on the porthole went off, plumes of smoke rising as that particular barge began to tilt and shift, having been knocked out of balance by an internal detonation.

The war on the ground was similarly contested. All across the city, the motherbarges deposited more and more invaders, more of these strange butcher aliens. MGTRN tilted, the fist of a particularly large one blindsiding him. They were strong: he noted damage to multiple systems. Not to the degree of a Destroyer, but still ferocious indeed. Each of the heavyset, thick limbed aliens were clad in heavy white armor that according to his scans seemed to be extracting their wearers vital fluids to power its internal servos and repair damage through an intricate secondary circulatory system.

Their weapons were long, connected to their armor via cable. Tribarreled, and easily five feet in length,their guns seemed to fire some sort of ball of antientropic energy that, on contact, expanded to create a field of absolute cold that froze everything it touched, killing any organic it touched and preparing them for harvest by the butcherbarges, and severely damaging any synthetic caught in the blast radius.

A few swung what appeared to be clubs forged out of a hyperdense alloy of metal that contained extremely powerful microbatteries to electrify them, the hammers releasing gouts of electricity as they bashed through metal.

Electricity far below the voltage a machine powered by a nuclear batter would have to worry about: the real danger was the weapon itself. MGTRN raised his arms, activating his shield to absorb one such blow: had he not, it would have torn through his biometal like butter.

He responded after with a blast from his chest embedded fusion cannon, reducing the offending harvester to dust. Below their feet, thousands of civilians were currently hiding: the Directorate needed to keep the enemy occupied, keep them from establishing a beach-head long enough for the Valiant to respond.

But there were a great, great deal of hostiles.

((((()))))

The alien ships came into view. Each of them trapezoidal things, their bottoms messes of pipes and pumps, each covered in barnacles and filth, their slopes stained green with exophilic moss, various graffitis and emblems painted onto the hull, which appeared to be a substance almost analogous to concrete. All along its slopes were platforms holding guns and motherbarges, and its top appeared to be made of glass panels.

They were larger than the H’kanns fleet, three flat discs made from a silvery, seamless material, firing rays of light at their foe. Already, at least two had been destroyed, their remains scattered in the orbit above the white marble that was Kanns Krown: they were on the back foot, forced to retreat further and further, ceding more ground to the slaughterships. The foul pipeworks below the vessels rattled and shook, a heavy looking object dropping from the bottoms of the trapezoids, the items falling to the planet below. Guided ordinance. Smart bombs, meant to help crack the roof of the cities.

“Activating fusion cannon and firing,” His security officer said, and a moment later a lance of light pierced out, wiping out five ships at once. “Alright, that rattled them: groundside reports are that they’re stopping the bombing, at least.”

“Keep firin’.” Wurf ordered, furrowing his eyebrows as he felt the ship start to shake from the impact of the enemies guns. On the viewscreen he watched as they attempted to move, realign themselves to target this new attacker, each ship shifting in the void.

“We’re taking fire: not enough to piece the shield yet, but once they reposition themselves…”

…Right, yeah, ship could handle a dozen or so smaller ship guns, but forty plus was probably a big ask. “When’s the ETA of the Endeavors?” He asked, gritting his teeth.

“Uh, twenty three minutes. Oh wait, sensor error: nineteen.” Well, dat wasn’t so bad. Could be wurse, ‘e supposed. “Al’right, send in th’ Hunteks: these gitz wanna try bullyin’ a smaller git? Let’s see ‘ow dey like takin’ on someone their own size.”

((((())))

The Huntek breached the ship, moving swiftly, silently, clad in a digi-cloak and armor made from Khimer stealth-metal. The Tekket scurried across the ground, to the wall, up the wall, upon the ceiling, aided by the gravity harness upon their body to ignore the artificial tug of the ships own weight generators, reaching a vent and cutting it open before crawling inside. Their guide, their visors inbuilt tricorder, which was plotting a route out for him that would lead directly to the ships main power supply. Scurrying swiftly, the Huntek sidestepped a buzzing saw, shifted through a hole in a laser grid with openings more than large enough to pass through, and walked on a trapdoor without triggering it. The place was trapped, meaning they had anticipated scenarios like this, but the traps were clearly meant for creatures significantly larger and weightier than a Huntek.

They passed over a grate, collecting a brief glimpse of the ships bowels. Silently, he raised the snapshot his visor took, examining it. He was in the lower levels: just above the pipeworks. The room was a maze of catwalks, pipes, and troughs all caked with gory effluvia, barnacles and webs, moss and algae, and ever present oozy slime, with no bottom to the chamber, just a vision of the planet below: according to what he could tell, the ship likely used a special field generator to keep the atmosphere in. Crude, but if you weren’t expecting to be attacked from below, one could perhaps see the utility.

“What’s in the pipes,” He muttered, passing over a cycloptean skull lost in ventilation, no doubt for a long time judging by the thick layer of dust on it, his tricorder bringing up the pipes scan data. It seemed to be a thick slurry of…biological matter, sawdust, rust, and various antibacterial chemicals. DNA traces seemed to be ninety…percent….H’kan…

“Trigger autoinjectors, blend 7.” Anti Nausea medication. He really didn’t want to have to throw up: he was going to plant the bomb, and then get out.

Every so often, he would pass by more grates, more holes, side tunnels. The interiors of the ship looked to be made out of a substance similar to a non-pourous concrete and copper. The lower levels seemed to be the crew quarters: many times the Huntek would pass over or under the scrambling aliens, no doubt working overtime to deal with the Valiant. They were large, and wore thick rubber suits: those working on the guts of the vessel, its pipeworks and such, wearing thick smocks stained brown and black.

The rooms he passed over would occasionally seem to be for sleeping: small, cramped one room cabins, the only furnishings being a strange mechanical stool that judging by fact their centers were hollow and the nearby lever were used for waste removal, and the occasional floor covering mattress. Curiously, the dividers between these cabins didn’t go all the way to the roof, stopping just low enough that the Huntek wagered it wouldn’t be hard for one of the aliens to peer over it.

He rose to the middle level. It was…cleaner, at least. Occasionally he would pass one of the crew spraying disinfectant using a backpack mounted sprayer, and the Huntek noted it was genuinely corrosive: whatever they were spraying would eat through most organic cells like tissue paper.

Here the ship seemed to be workplaces. Mixtures of warehouses full of vats full of processed H’kann, Sawdust, and Chemicals stored in titanic cryobarrels, processing plants where the slurry was, through a series of troughs, heating racks, and other apparatuses reduced to what looked like freeze dried ration bars. He also passed what first appeared as offices in which aliens hooked to IV’s tapped away at terminals, the only ones bare: they were humanoid, almost, though far larger and more heavyset, with pebbly gray skin, but two fingers on their primary grasper, and a single eye.

It was only upon closer examination of the data captured by his tricorder that he realized the truth. The IV’s contained processed bioslurry mixed with a variety of chemicals that typically acted as antibiotics, immunosuppressants, and stimulants. The “chairs” they sat on were equipped with life support technology sophisticated enough to care for any need they might need, including sleep and having an immune system. The fact these rooms had no doors.

They weren’t actually workplaces, they were just residencies whose residents weren’t expected to ever leave!

The sooner he detonated this power core, the better.

((((()))))

All across the enemy fleet, more ships detonated as the Hunteks and the Valiant wrecked merry havok, the former planting bombs and performing assassinations all across the enemy fleet, the latter doing its best to avoid the weapons of the enemy ships, minimizing the number of hits while they scoured them with its lances.

“Endeavors are approaching: they should be in range in five minutes,” BET-99 noted. “Also we’re getting hailed!”

“Wurf, we’re about halfway to your position,” Strongarm said. “Hows it lookin’ pardner?”

“We’re outnumbered. They got fifty ships. Small unz, definitely they didn’t expect a fair fight,” Wurf grumbled.

“Is that Strongarm? B’vaach! Hurry! We are being torn apart!” Said the voice of Garagrim, the H’keks dinner plateeyes darting all around them, pupils dilated in terror, near hyperventilating as she continually tapped at their keyboard as she came on the viewscreen. “I am down to my last two ships!””

“We’re goin’ as fast as we can, Pard,” Strongarm responded, the alien grinding their teeth. “Don’t like it either but we can’t klakkin go any faster without tearin’ our ships apart: we don’t have your inertial dampers! Our ships can’t take those tolerances!”

“Oi, Garagrim, retreat an’ regroup,” Wurf said, realizing there wasn’t much two pre-warp combat ships were going to add on their own. “See if’y can provide ground support.”

“Tch! Fine. Captain Garagrim to all remaining ships, we’re retreating! Focus on survival! When Strongarm gets here, then we will bring the fight back to the F’grim! Garagrim out!” With that the alien hung up, even as, over the Horizon, the Endeavors approached.

Two ships for two ships. Let’s see how da gitz hold up t’ the Khimer.

((((())))

Penetration.

Movement. Heat signatures. Targets. Fang-Claw-Stalker, callsign Agent FANG, dropped from their pod, stretching out before rapidly beginning to stride forward quickly on all limbs, a hunched knuckle lope as the various sensory organs in the Khimers detected the shift of electrons with such accuracy that some might term it a form of sight. Power junction. Disable.

Crawling upon the ceiling to reach it, from behind the Khimers back came an extra set of limbs: cutters, long scything blades upon slightly smaller secondary arms that lashed out, the monomolecular osteochitin blade cutting through a panel and the junction behind it, and for a moment, electricity arced through the Khimer even as the lights went out, leaving the Khimer the only thing illuminated in the darkness, a horrific blue flash filling the area even as from around the corner dozens upon dozens of guards began to emerge, seeing the Khimer…and then seeing it disappear as it removed its blades and began scuttling away, completely unharmed because of the various capacitors and protective fields installed in their blackshift stealth metal armor.

They were in shadow now. They would not find the Khimer: blackshift blocked all sensors. The Khimer watched as the guards began excreting pheromones consistent with mammalian fear: adrenal substance. Cortisol. Norepinephrine.

One passed under Fang. Their scythes cut, and the alien fell, dead before their brain could register, split down the middle up to their belly, followed by the Khimer dropping, dashing forward and cutting through the barrel and torso of the next closest one even as they darted away back up the wall and down the corridor, the whole exchange having only taken a moment, not even enough time for the first guards corpse to fall. A moment later, the aliens let out cries of alarm: more stress chemicals in their scent as they realized two of their number were silent, one of them managing to activate a light at the end of their guns barrel, revealing their peers remains.

Screams of horror. One of them shoots their gun in alarm: hits an ally, killing them. Fang drops below, behind one of them, snapping their neck backward, their eyes widening in the brief moment they saw Fang before their brain shut down with their spine broken, Fang darting away. Slow. Musculature suggested strength but reaction speed was lacking.

Crawling through the shadows even as the group continued to panic, Fang reached into his belt. Micro-Mines, set to explode from proximity. The Khimer silently began planting the explosives, using the panic among the group, now realizing two more of their number was dead, to move undetected around them. Each, he attacked to a surface, pressing a single button on the top of the flattish disks to arm them before crawling away.

A moment later, one of the guards broke and tried to run, only to find themselves detonated when they activated one of the minds, the hall filling with a brief burst of fiery light even as the concussive force blasted the unfortunate alien to bits, coating his allies in a coating of organs, blood, and dismembered limbs even as they briefly caught a single glimpse of Fang staring at them from the end of the hallway.

Three left. No point in being subtle now: all he had to be was quick. Surging forward, the Khimer grabbed the barrel of one gun and shoved it upward under the chin of one of the aliens the exact moment the trigger was pulled, shattering the creatures skull into hundreds of pieces of icy shrapnel even as their body was grabbed and shoved in the direction of the next Alien, blocking a hit from their gun and causing the icy sculpture to smash into the poor creature and sending them sprawling even as Fang grabbed the last alien by their skull, crushing it in their grasp and pulping their brain.

The sole survivor was currently trapped under the frozen body of their peer, slowly lifting it up and trying to reach for their gun as the corridor was once more bathed in darkness. Approaching the alien, Fang prepared for the next part of his plan.

Opening their mouth, from the depths of their esophagous a long, segmented spine emerged, the appendage ending on a sort of probiscus. The attachment jabbed forward, going into the trapped aliens skull, Fang using the bioinjector to deposit thousands upon thousands of tiny eggs into their brain.

A moment later, he retracted his bioinjector even as the eggs hatched into tiny larvae, all of which began eating their way through their victims skull, the grubs slowly taking control over their victims limbic system. Psijack Parasites. Carefully engineered to allow the Khimer to take control over targets for brief periods.

The Khimer backed away, watching as the alien screamed, their thrashing slowing even as the light rapidly began to fade from their eyes. It would not be long. The parasites were designed to rapidly destroy consciousness, effectively killing their host in order to minimize their suffering.

A moment later, the alien was still. Fang grabbed the frozen comrad atop them, lifting it off and commanding the husk to stand. As they lumbered their way upright, the alien pressed something on their suit as Fang gave the grubs a command: contact command in order to send a specific message. The alien spoke in a slow monotone drone as the grubs used what little was left of their hosts memory to form the correct words.

“We’re. Under. Attack. Send. More. Security.”

(((((())))))

“Captain, we’re being hailed by the enemy,” Said the comms officer.

Wurf grunted. “Put em on screen,” He said, and a moment, he was staring one of the Invaders, though this one far far finer apparel: a suit made from silk, black trouser and overshirt with gold highlights, held closed with a long sash wrapped around their midsection. The alien, seated in a highly luxurious recliner, eyed them in annoyance: their single polycordic, iron colored eye staring at them in annoyance, lip curled into a scowl. Behind them was what appeared to be a portrait of themselves, one large enough that Wurf wagered wherever dis git was situated, their office was probably three times the size of the bridge command room.

“So you’re the pain in my ass whose decided to disrupt my harvest operation,” The Alien grumbled in a deep, baritone voice. “Names Sub-Chairman Blaggle. Do you know how much money you’ve cost me?”

…What? Wurf blinked as he processed what was going on. Did this git just imply ‘e was grindin’ up sentients…just to make a quick profit? “Alright, ‘Sub-Chairman Blaggle’, th’ names Wurf, an in all honesty I’m hopin’ you lost a lot. Zog off: this system is under th’ protection of the Directorate,” He growled.

The giant narrowed their eye, living forward and giving Wurf an intense look. “Alright, you wanna play hardball, huh? I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with here. You wanna come in and wreck MY harvest operation? I’ll handle you the same way the Gruggo Consortium deals with everyone who tries to step in on our business.” He leaned backwards. “How much to make you !@#$ off?”

Wurf blinked. “What?”

“How much. To make you. !@#$ off,” Blaggle said, enunciating every word. “What, do I gotta spell it out? How much and what specifically do I have to pay you off to get you out of my gums and let me do my business? Do you want rationpaste? I gotta a lotta rationpaste.”

“...Whamdinger, any chance you can find which ship is hailin’ me and zap it?” Wurf said calmly, and a moment later, on his console he noted the Teeth frying one of the ships…causing a bit of blur at the edges of the screen for a moment.

“Not a fan of the rationpaste, huh? What about organs? We got H’k, of course, but we also have human, kroot, ork, heck, I think we got some eldar organs in a cooler somewhere,” Blaggle commented, the edges of his frown curling a bit in smug satisfaction. “What, you think I’m a dumb enough mook to be leadin’ this operation in person? It’s called delegation, smart guy: I’m not even in this stupid system, I’m just usin’ a subspace communication device.”

Well that was great. “I don’t want your stupid biorations, I don’t want your stupid organs, and I don’t want anything you can pay me, because we aren’t for sale.” Wurf said bluntly. “You’re not gonna be able to bribe us into lettin’ you commit genocide for PROFIT,” He said, contempt dripping from every word but especially the last.

Blaggle snorted. “Oh well, look at the Hero. Tell me, do you actually think you’re helpin’ people? Even if we assume you can actually beat of our harvest fleet, what do you think is gonna happen?”

…That felt like a trick question.

“No answer? Don’t worry, I’ll tell you: I send a different fleet to one of the several dozen other planets we’ve purchased harvest rights for and take it from them, and unlike our buddies here, they haven’t bounced back enough to survive it. You aren’t stopping the dying: you’re just moving it to someone who isn’t nearly as prepared to take the hurt.”

“This is a false binary,” Wurf said bluntly. “You’re presenting the argument as if there are only two options: the H’k suffering or someone else. Nobody is forcin’ you to be a bastard, mate,” Wurf continued, frown deepening.

“Sure I am: the several hundred billion people who are waiting on food deliveries and are gonna starve if I don’t bring home the B’loch, the millions of employees who need the money to survive, and the, y’know, LAW,” Blaggle drawled, rolling their shoulders as they crossed their legs, placing their arms on the soft rests of their chair. “You think I wanna do this? You think I woke up one day and said “Gee, I really love the flavor of processed and canned alien”? No! But I don’t have a choice: the order has already been made and accepted, the money has already changed hands, and if I don’t fill that order not only do the teeming masses of Commoragh go hungry, my consortium, bean-counter all the way up to Chairman, get charged for fraud and additional millions of workers lose their jobs and get put out onto the street.”

“...”

“Nothin’ to say, huh? That’s what I thought. Now, you wanna keep this up, be my guest,” Blaggle said, giving a wave of his hand. “But you’re outnumbered, don’t have the benefit of surprise no more, and sorry to say we both know the frogboys fleet is basically a giant B’trok in the wind: the only way this ends is with both of our forces smashed, and frankly that profits nobody. Since I’m such a generous guy, I’m willin’ to part with one million units of biop-”

“My zog, d’you even realize ‘ow much of an absolute CUNT you sound like?” Wurf said incredulously. “Do you seriously think I give a squogs arse about your laws? D’ya think “I’ll go t’ jail if I don’t kill these people” is a credible defense?” The captain leaned forward, face a rictus of rage. “An’ bluntly, even krumpin’ you just gets someone else hurt, that doesn’t change th’ fact that the person whose morally culpable is the one what decided to feast on th’ fat of a less developed people. ‘Eres my counteroffer, an’ I’ll be honest if it weren’t fer th’ fact I don’t want Flyin Saucer to get caught in th’ crossfire of me putting my boot up yer arse I wouldn’t even be offerin it: zog off now, take all your ships and go, an’ I won’t do to yer ships what I plan to do when we meet to you. An’ Blaggle? Ain’t no ‘Obbgrot died of old age yet.” The corner of his mouth curled upward, just a bit. “So believe you me when I promise you dis: I’m gonna find you. I’m gonna krump your guards. An’ then? I’m gonna krump you,” Wurf said, taking some small satisfaction from the way the Sub-Chairmans eyes widened. “End transmission: get this git off my screen,” Wurf said with disgust, even as the communication ended.

Well. Startin’ a interplanetary war wasn’t on Wurfs to do list, but ‘e wagered the Directorate could take em, so long as they didn’t start any other flashfires. Course, what’d be the odds of the Directorate somehow getting embroiled in two wars at the same time?

You have learned the identity of the enemy captain: Sub-Chairman Blaggle of the Gruggo Consortium, an agri-corporation that trades in harvested sentient flesh for profit. The enemy fleet is currently bunched together in the Inner Rim, over Kanns Krown.

You have destroyed seven enemy ships out of 50. Despite Wurfs threats, they are not retreating.

The H’kann are down to two ships. Their Planetary Ground forces have been severely damaged in the fighting and are no longer functional. Blokbots have taken severe damage, but are still protecting all access to civilian deep bunkers against Gruggo ground forces. However, the Neutral Relief Fleet has arrived, consisting of 3 H’kek ships and 2 H’kann ones: they are currently focusing on aiding the ground effort.

Gruggo Harvest Ground Ops have taken critical damage, however they have an extremely large amount of reinforcements to draw from from the fleet.

What do you put your Endeavors towards? Pick two: if voting for the same option twice, please add an X2 to the option so the tally catches it.

[ ] Torpedo Sniping: There were only a handful of specific ships that were being used to house and ferry reinforcements for the Gruggo harvest corp: if the Endeavors could take them out, it would put a halt to the movement of troops to the planet.

[ ] Hey Blaggle? I’m in your Komputer: Wurf didn’t know what a subspace communication array was, but ‘opefully it went both ways. ‘E was gonna have the Endeavors see if they could breach the Gruggo’s network, see what data they can rob.

[ ] Watashi ga Kita!: Let em pick on someone their own size. Or preferably bigger: the Endeavors would breach the gas giants atmosphere to help cut down the Ground Ops to size: they couldn’t breach the cities, but the airspace outside them was another story entirely.

Assign where you want your special units operating

[ ] Ground: The Hunteks and Khimer would focus on ground operations, disrupting enemy actions in the theater and relieving existing forces.

[ ] Space: The Hunteks and Khimer would focus on space operations: conducting boarding and sabotage to reduce the enemies focus and help thin the numbers on their fleet.

Lastly, you are permitted a Captains Gambit.

[ ] Insert Captains Gambit. Remember, the more Trek-y a solution, the better.

((((())))