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Here is the next chapter for this story series. I originally wanted this installment to be shorter compared to the last. However, I found out that wouldn't be the case. I'm glad I have others to help me edit, else my sanity would be long gone by now.

In light of that, I had fun writing this... and I hope you enjoy reading as always.

For Reference:

Kyree (key ree): anthromorph wolf-like race

Kenseng (ken sang): anthromorph tiger-like race

Arastos (a rest tos): alien starship http://www.sofurry.com/page/248059

Arastos Crew:

Kanolos (ka no loss): male kyree, starship helmsman, mated to Riyla

Riyla (ri la): female kyree, starship captain, mated to Kanolos

Shyla (shy la): female kenseng, starship tactical officer/cook, mated to Yanashi

Yanashi (yana she): female kyree, starship tactical officer/physician, mated to Shyla

Eriras (ear rass): female kenseng, starship engineer, mated to Taylo

Taylo (tay low): male kenseng, starship engineer, mated to Eriras

Lumina (loo men na): holographic female kyree construct, starship supporting A.I.

Keith (key th): male human, human ambassador

Territory Map Diagram: http://www.sofurry.com/page/222716/

We Will Fight

Written By: Spudz

"The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his," General George S. Patton

Air raid sirens howled ominously, personnel dashed about in organized chaos, military equipment sat at the ready... the scene was one of dire determination. War was imminent, and those who suddenly found themselves caught within the crosshairs acted fervently to prepare.

Huffing laboriously under the weight of his flight suit, Captain Richard Davis rushed quickly across the tarmac of the airfield toward his waiting aircraft, all while holding his helmet underneath an arm awkwardly. The only issue that mattered to him at that fleeting moment was reaching his bird, and subsequently taking to the sky to meet the hostile threat that was no doubt fast approaching.

Not nine hours ago, the Air Force airman had been enjoying the splendor of the local German community via a quaint pub in the nearby town. However, the situation had changed significantly with the surprise attack against his country's government only several hours prior. He would have to endure the ebbing pain of his hangover for now, as Davis answered his call to arms.

Spangdahlem Airbase, one of two U.S. Air Force installations within Germany, was at a full tactical alert. Roughly 30 minutes prior, urgent flash traffic over the secure military network had stepped all conventional American forces worldwide into a DEFCON 1 state, signifying war was imminent. This readiness state had not once been implemented in the military since its inception back in 1959.

Under such serious conditions, all mission capable squadrons and fighting units were effectively plunged into wartime rules of engagement. As such, all aircraft wings were promptly instructed to fuel, arm, and standby for short notice strike orders. This critical directive applied to Davis's unit, the 27th Fighter Squadron.

The 27th, also known as the Fighting Eagles, was stationed out of Langley Air Force Base. The unit held the distinction of being the oldest standing Air Force fighter squadron, and had seen action since World War II. Throughout its career the squadron had utilized a wide variety of aircraft designs; from the unique duel-prop P-38 Lightning, to the more recent F-15 Eagle. Now the weapon of choice was that of a formidable fifth-generation fighter aircraft, the F-22 Raptor...a fighter aircraft that had garnered the distinction as one hell of an air superiority platform.

Currently the unit was deployed to Spangdahlem as part of an international joint training exercise between America and her European allies. Consequently, two German Luftwaffe squadrons of the impressive Eurofighter, along with a Royal Air Force counterpart, were also on site. This was in addition to the F-16 Fighting Falcons of the 480th Fighter Squadron stationed at the base year-round.

Together the international contingent of aircraft composed a formidable force, capable of engaging and promptly defeating any known hostile force that could be thrown against it. Yet, their foe was not of this world... an unfamiliar adversary with capabilities incomprehensible to the military personnel. The inevitable conflict with these mysterious aliens promised to be horrific, possibly even suicidal.

But that was merely a harsh fact of Captain Davis's occupation. With grim determination, the captain reached the removable stairs leading up to the confines of his plane's cockpit and expertly tossed his helmet up to plop down into the aircraft's ejection seat. He then turned his attention to the several ground ordnance personnel hurriedly mounting AIM-120 AMRAAM radar guided missiles, dubbed Slammers, to the F-22's internal weapon bay hardpoints.

In the flurry of sudden confusion, a serious problem had been discovered as workers rushed to arm the waiting aircraft along the airbase tarmac. There was a shortage of Air-to-Air missiles.

Spangdahlem was an airbase originally built to defend against Soviet aggressions at the height of the Cold War. With that threat long since removed, the military hardware stationed at the airfield had been greatly diminished over the past two decades. Apart from reduced aircraft numbers, the downsizing had also affected the standing weapon stockpiles located onsite.

As a result, only the F-22s were being armed with the limited supply of Slammers, while the Eurofighters and F-16s received short-range heat seeking Sidewinder loadouts.

"Sir, your bird has six Slammers and two Sidewinders loaded," the lead ordnance technician spoke somberly to the pilot, while his counterparts finished their task and began removing the safety pins on all of the missile warheads. "You have three Slammers to each ventral bay, and one Sidewinder per auxiliary side door."

It was thanks to this unique ability of carrying ordnance within the Raptor's airframe that allowed the aircraft to retain its minuscule radar cross-section, as well as the capability to supercruise at Mach 1.8 without the need for fuel-consuming afterburners.

"Thanks for the speedy work," Davis replied earnestly. "How is my fuel situation?"

"Roughly half capacity. The fuel trucks are currently scrambling to service the aircraft with empty tanks first. If time permits, we'll procure one to top you off."

"That'll have to do for now," Richard spoke with a hint of concern.

The prospect of taking off without full tanks wasn't appealing to the pilot in the slightest. It would certainly do him no good for his engines to flame out in the middle of a dogfight with these mysterious aliens. He had no idea what their technology was capable of. Yet, there was no doubt Davis would be pushing his plane dangerously to the very edge of its flight envelope, demanding maneuvers of his aircraft that would eat through his fuel supply in no time.

Shaking the thought from his head, Captain Davis gave a crisp salute to the ground personnel. The ordnance workers each returned the gesture solemnly, as the pilot turned and began climbing the detachable ladder to the plane's cockpit in a familiar routine he had performed countless times.

After a brief moment, Richard reached the top of the stairs. Before he threw himself into the cushy confines of the cockpit, the pilot reached over to check that the safety pin of the ejection seat was removed. The protective measure was designed to allow for maintenance personnel to work safely on the ejection system without risking an accidental firing of the discharge rockets, which were designed to thrust the seat free of the cockpit. However, if the pin wasn't removed prior to flight operations, the seat would fail to operate if the pilot pulled the ejection handle between his legs in an emergency.

Once he had confirmed the pin's removal, Captain Richard Davis picked up his helmet from inside the plane and deftly vaulted himself into the cockpit to plunk down comfortably in the seat. For a moment he simply sat and exhaled deeply, as the pilot welcomed the familiarity of his plane. There was always a certain satisfying feeling that came with assuming the controls of a military fighter, almost bringing on a euphoric sensation of comfort.

For fighter pilots the act of "strapping on an aircraft," as many liked to say, was an incredible phenomenon absolutely unique in its power and intensity. The sensation was one of man and machine coming together in beautiful harmony; functioning as a single lethal entity with the capability to exceed the speed of sound, perform gut-twisting maneuvers in nauseating aerial dances of grace... and blot enemies out of existence with the mere pull of a trigger.

As Davis placed his bulky helmet onto the control stick located to his right side, the lead ground support technician appeared standing atop the removable ladder at his other flank.

"They just stepped Strategic Air Command up to DEFCON 1," the man spoke grimly, while he reached over to help Davis secure his shoulder harness straps.

The SAC consisted of all land-based strategic nuclear armed bomber aircraft and intercontinental ballistic missile units. Throwing these nuclear assets into such a high readiness state was unheard-of, and had never been implemented before... not even during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

"Jesus, this conflict is going to get real messy in a hurry," was the pilot's stunned reply, after pausing with a clasp of his harness held in hand. "Just how bad is the situation? If the military is willing to utilize such deadly weapons so quickly, things can't be going well."

With those words Davis returned to the task of buckling himself in. Once this was accomplished, he reached over to flick on the master battery switch along the cockpit panel to engage the plane's computer systems. Instantly the various displays before the pilot came to life with information detailing the aircraft's condition, fuel and weapon status, and flight plan configuration.

At the moment, Captain Davis had no orders other than to man his aircraft and wait for further instructions. Consequently there was no data for him to input into the computer detailing the desired course of flight and mission task to be carried out. Dialing the radio in to the ground handler frequency, instead he watched as a nearby Eurofighter released its brakes and rolled off the tarmac to taxi toward the lone runway of the airfield.

Since the Luftwaffe birds were already fully fueled and armed, it was decided their squadron would take up a defensive patrol over the airspace incorporating Spangdahlem, while the remaining aircraft refueled. Davis and his fellow Raptor drivers didn't like the idea of sitting on the ground in such a vulnerable position. But, they weren't in command of the base's defense.

Suddenly, the audio speaker of the cockpit came alive with alarming news, causing the situation to take a turn for the worst.

"This is Spangdahlem Ground to all aircraft currently using this frequency," the handler spoke with urgency. "Any fighter aircraft capable of lifting off must do so immediately. Reports have confirmed that Ramstein Airbase is currently under attack by unknown hostile elements. Local contact with enemy forces is imminent."

The news was not good. Ramstein was the other United States Air Force base located within the borders of Germany. If that airbase was under attack, it was only logical to assume the enemy would come to Spangdahlem any moment now.

Davis knew the other three elements of his fighter wing retained roughly the same fuel status as him. That would have to be good enough, since they would be little use to the base's defense sitting on the tarmac with a thumb up their ass when the aliens showed up.

In a rush, the captain reached over to plug his helmet comm lead into the radio analog plug, while simultaneously fitting said protective covering onto his head. Once that was accomplished, he pulled the helmet mask close to his mouth and spoke into the mic housed inside.

"This is Talon Lead," Captain Davis said, as he keyed the button to speak over the radio frequency. "We are fully armed, with half fuel status... will start engines and roll to runway when able."

"Copy, Talon Lead."

After receiving acknowledgements from the other three aircraft of his wing, Davis turned to regard the ground technician who was still standing atop the stairs alongside the pilot.

"I've kept your bird in peak flying condition," the man spoke with confidence. "Go out there and give those bastards hell...God speed."

Captain Robert Davis gave a slight nod of understanding before the technician skillfully slid down the stairs to disappear from view. A few seconds later, said stairs were moved back away from the F-22, while a ground marshaller stepped out in front of the cockpit to help guide Davis with the startup sequence.

When the immediate area around the aircraft was clear of any personnel or foreign objects, the marshaller gave the signal for Davis to start the Raptor's Auxiliary Power Unit.

The F-22's APU was that of a small 450 horsepower turbine engine situated forward of the weapon bay compartments. Before the main engines could be started, this smaller turbine first had to be revved up to provide the required onboard electrical power needed to spool up the larger propulsion turbofans. The aircraft APU also worked to serve as a backup power supply for control surfaces in the event of main engine failure.

With the simple press of a button, Davis activated the APU startup sequence. Quickly, the turbine spun up and ignited in a small puff of exhaust through a vent along the dorsal aircraft surface, instantaneously kicking into full power while emitting a high pitched whine. As a result, the aircraft systems and control surfaces came fully to life with the power unit supplying electricity to run the plane's onboard hydraulic pumps.

Now with mechanical systems on hand, Captain Davis lowered the bubble canopy of the cockpit down to seal out the deafening noise of the plane's APU. He also briefly tested the control surface movements of the ailerons, elevators, and rudder via the rudder pedals and control stick to ensure that the hydraulic systems were operating.

After a few moments, the glass covering slid neatly into place and effectively isolated the pilot from the outside world. The sudden onset of silence was always a relief for Richard, as he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments to calm his nerves. He was now one with his aircraft.

Giving the proper signal, the marshaller indicated to Davis the situation was safe to initiate main engine startup.

In a routine that was almost second nature to him, the pilot reached over and began the startup sequence. Hastily his fingers flew across the dash control inputs while power was shunted from the APU to begin spooling the right F119-PW-100 Pratt and Whitney turbofan engine. Within the cockpit, a distinct low growl emanated throughout the airframe as the turbine was brought up to a sufficient RPM for the engine to ignite and maintain idle power.

In a flash, the ignition of the engine core kicked in and at once the turbofan RPM responded and came up to an idle setting, producing a deafening whine of noise outside the plane. When the right turbine startup was completed, Davis quickly performed the same procedure on the left. Soon the F-22 was at idle power on both engines, ready and willing to take to the sky and perform her duty.

Again Davis checked the control surfaces to ensure everything was functioning properly. Satisfied, he gave a smart salute to the marshalling ground personnel, who returned the gesture crisply. With the plane ready to taxi, the men outside carefully removed the parking chocks around the F-22's wheels. In the meantime, the captain checked with the other three Raptors of his wing to ensure that all were ready to taxi.

"Spangdahlem Ground, Talon Lead requesting taxi to active," Davis spoke, after keying the mic of his oxygen mask.

"Talon Lead, taxi to active," the ground handler responded promptly with an undertone of urgency. "Cleared for immediate take-off."

Davis didn't need to be told twice as he slipped the aircraft's brakes and advanced the throttles slightly to ease the F-22 out of its parking spot. His flight swiftly followed suit and fell instep behind the captain's plane as they each hastily taxied to the runway.

Abruptly the radio frequency came to life again with an ominous warning.

"Gentlemen... get your planes in the air ASAP. We got company on the way. Numerous contacts on radar descending down from above the airfield."

The flight of four F-22s quickly switched their radios over to the airfield's tower frequency, where coordination was being conducted between base command and the orbiting aircraft setup to defend the military installation. Already, hostile contacts were being called out by the Luftwaffe fighters airborne, giving Davis renewed urgency in his attempt to get into the air.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the Raptors turned onto the runway surface and lined up for a rapid take-off roll. Captain Davis didn't hesitate as he closed the tinted visor of his helmet. After giving one last quick check of every key system, the pilot then advanced the throttles to full power. Immediately the two turbofan engines responded to the request for max thrust, in quite the dramatic fashion.

Richard was promptly pushed back into the cushion of the ejection seat as the combined 70,000 lbs. of engine thrust came to push forcefully against the airframe. Before the engines spooled up to maximum RPM, the afterburners kicked in while additional fuel was dumped into the exhaust manifolds of the turbines and ignited. The result was almost instantaneous, with the Raptor reaching take-off speed after only a few hundred feet of runway.

Grasping the control stick with expert care, Richard gently eased the aircraft off the runway surface and instantly retracted the landing gear. However, he chose to keep the F-22 roughly 100 feet off the ground and built up airspeed, while the other three aircraft of Talon flight lifted off behind him and followed his lead.

Just as the Raptor crossed the end of the runway surface, Davis yanked back hard on the control stick. Smartly the aircraft responded to the pilot's command as the thrust vector nozzles directed the engine exhaust upward, while the entire aft horizontal stabilizer rotated downward to push the tail down.

The G-force of the maneuver shoved the captain down into his seat forcefully, causing his vision to tunnel somewhat with the blood rushing to his legs. Quickly Davis's viewpoint changed, as the sky soon filled the canopy while the aircraft pointed straight upward in a dramatic vertical ascent to gain altitude.

After only a few moments, the F-22 of Talon Lead leveled off at 15,000 feet, joining her European counterparts in the sky over the airfield. Captain Davis's flight soon formed up around him as his wingman, Talon Two, took up position off his left wing, while Talon Three and Talon Four stood off to his right.

"Alright, Talon... I'm going active," Captain Davis spoke to his flight element. "Two, Three and Four spread to passive link at one mile."

As the other Raptors acknowledged his instructions and began to fall back away from his plane, the captain reached over to his dash controls and activated the button to warm up his radar.

The F-22's AN/APG-77 radar platform was a technological marvel capable of searching, tracking, and engaging multiple targets simultaneously. However, the novelty that made the aircraft's radar platform unique was its special low-frequency uplink capability. In this regard, a single plane could illuminate targets via its onboard system, while other Raptors uplinked to that particular aircraft and utilized the information to engage targets without having to go active themselves.

In the end, this tactic allowed for one aircraft to scan for multiple friendly planes, and thus only present the enemy with a single target to track while the stealthy wingmen snuck in for kill shots.

Immediately, the avionics detected a horde of inbound aircraft at approximately 40,000 feet, descending directly onto the airbase below. Judging by the radar signature, there were most likely at least 20 different hostile contacts all grouped together in a tight formation. The enemy was here, now it was time to bring the fight to them, and see just how capable the humans were in defending themselves.

"Multiple contacts, 40,000 feet... positioned directly over the airfield," Captain Davis reported over the radio frequency of his flight. The hostiles were already too close to the base, and Talon Lead was itching to unleash his firepower.

"All aircraft, you are weapons free at this time," the control tower exclaimed briskly over the frequency. "I repeat... you are weapons free."

Multiple acknowledgements answered the order as both German and American fighter aircraft changed course to close on the inbounds. At that moment, Davis changed over to his flight's comm again.

"We're going to fire a volley of Slammers first," The captain informed his wingmen. "The Germans only have short range Sidewinders, so they need to close to within visual range."

His flight replied with confirmation on their leader's instructions, while each F-22 selected an AIM-120 missile to unleash...time to bring the pain.

On Davis's tactical display, he singled out the lead contact of the hostile formation and dialed the information into the firing computer. Meanwhile, Talon Lead could see each of his three wingmen zero their aim onto a different target from his own, since the uplink allowed the planes to talk and coordinate with one another.

When the distance to the enemy was only a few miles, Captain Davis depressed the button on his control stick, initiating the firing sequence of his Slammer missile as he angled the aircraft's nose upward slightly. Instantly the outer doors to the internal weapon bay swung open to expose the armament inside. Simultaneously the targeting data on the hostile contact was downloaded into the missile's processing computer. Once that was accomplished, a hydraulic release forcefully shoved the weapon out of the F-22 to fall free below.

With its connection severed to the Raptor, the AIM-120 initiated its autonomous programming as it evaluated the information supplied by the F-22's systems. At that fleeting moment, the missile rocket ignited and swiftly sped the projectile away from the aircraft, while the weapon bay doors once again closed to reestablish the plane's stealthy profile.

Reaching a maximum speed of Mach 4, the Slammer adjusted its course toward the enemy contact via periodic uplinks with Davis's Raptor. After only a few moments, the missile reached the effective range of its onboard radar and went active in search of a reflective signature... and it didn't take long for the weapon to find its target.

Descending steadily down from the orbiting starships of the drala fleet above, the 20 troop dropships of the Domain flew in a tight formation. Each vessel carried 50 soldiers ready to drop down and seize control of the human airfield. As it turned out, this small contingent of ships was only a small part of a much larger operation currently underway across the planet. The objective was simple, and the humans wouldn't put up too much of a fight no doubt.

Each dropship was well aware of the nearby human aircraft. The distinct signatures of their primitive send/receive detection equipment was easily picked up by the drala's own sensors. If the aircraft closed to pester the ships, they would simply swat the annoying things out of the sky with the two point-defense turrets mounted above and below the hull of every spacecraft in the formation.

Abruptly, a new signature materialized on the sensor grid of the lead dropship flying in the formation. Curiously, the pilot eyed the rapidly approaching blip on his display in bewilderment as he wondered just what it was... must be one of their aircraft swooping in to take a closer look. Quickly he relayed the information to the two personnel manning the turrets of the vessel.

Yet there was something amiss. The object was flying toward the Domain formation quite rapidly... too rapidly!

Suddenly the pilot caught a small thin stream of something careening directly toward his cockpit window. He had no time to react as the fast-approaching AIM-120 impacted squarely against the reinforced glass of his window.

The force of impact and the subsequent explosion of the warhead were just too much for the window to withstand. In a brilliant fiery detonation the weapon destroyed the cockpit of the dropship and promptly gutted the forward interior space... killing the pilot and supporting crew instantly.

Now effectively a dead stick, the bulky vessel careened out of control and tumbled end over end, tossing the unfortunate infantry housed in its square-shaped hull around mercilessly. Those aboard would be forced to ride out the horrifying experience for several long agonizing moments, before the dropship eventually impacted into a nondescript empty field of rural Germany.

The demise of the lead unit promptly threw the formation of vessels into disarray, as each crew tried to discern just what had happened. The resulting chaos would serve to work cruelly against the Domain ships, as more destruction would soon befall the hapless assault element via the hands of their human opponents.

From his cockpit, Davis could barely make out the resulting explosion from the missile hit on the dropship. However his radar confirmed the destruction of the hostile contact as that particular blip now fell from the sky at an uncontrolled rate. Score one for the defenders.

"Let 'em have it!" Talon Lead exclaimed with determination.

The weapon bay doors of the Raptor formation swiftly opened to launch a volley of deadly Slammers downrange. Meanwhile, the contingent of German Eurofighters closed the distance down to within visual range of the Domain hostiles, while the remaining F-16 and Royal Air Force squadrons took to the sky to join their brethren in combat.

The death and destruction was only just beginning.

As chaos gripped the planet below, the huge formidable contingent of Domain capital starships continued to orbit about Earth. The ships were organized into numerous clusters, situated about the planet in an imposing defensive perimeter to protect against hostile actions. On one particular vessel, a commanding admiral stood quietly and marveled at the scene presented to him outside the bridge window, while his hands remained clasped behind his figure meaningfully.

The drala was a sight to behold, with his body covered in rustic brown scales from head to foot. Roughly resembling the Basiliscus genus of lizards, he possessed a stubby snout, cranial ridges across the forehead, and distinctive reptilian eyes. However, contrary to the similarity with Earth's indigenous species the drala race did not retain any form of tail or the distinction of being cold-blooded, metabolically speaking.

He wore an elegant uniform shrouded in soft fabric of a crisp white color, while a large sash of blue cloth was adorned across the chest to convey his superior rank. Numerous medals decorated this particular ribbon to signify past victories and honors bestowed upon the wearer, a testament to his experience and competence to lead and command.

Admiral Taeskea was one who radiated power and authority, an individual renowned for his military genius and natural ability to find solutions under adverse circumstances. As such, the sole and crucial responsibility of commanding the enormous Domain invasion armada fell squarely on his meager shoulders.

Currently the admiral had 568 capital starships under his command, of which 311 were combat capable cruisers, fighter carriers, and scout ships. The remaining spacecraft were that of the poorly armed supply vessels and troop transports, assets that Taeskea had to protect while he continued the conquest of the planet.

The commanding drala did not like the position he currently found himself in. This whole invasion plan was ill-conceived and hastily put together. There were too many variables in play for Admiral Taeskea to accurately assess and work around. If he had been involved with the planning process, this certainly would not be the approach he employed.

There was no telling when the Federation would manage to organize a counterattack against his forces. No doubt when that fateful moment came he would find himself fighting two wars; one against humanity on the ground, and the other in open space... a situation that the commanding drala wanted to avoid at all costs.

The thought caused the admiral to grunt with derision. Just who had thought this underhanded strategy would work?!

Taeskea had only learned of the Federation diplomat's assassination after he was hastily given command of the invasion fleet. With the authority came orders to secure the human planet of Earth, and defend the world from any Federation counter offensives. He had actually thought the directive was some sort of sick twisted joke by his superiors... but he had later been horrified to learn otherwise.

Even worse was the fact that his kind had struck the first blow in quite the underhanded fashion, by hijacking various civilian cargo vessels and subsequently attacking the Federation fleet in horrendous suicide assaults. The thought brought a gut-wrenching chill to the drala admiral's stomach. His race had performed several atrocious acts of all-out war against a neighboring territory that, until now, had been a friendly and advantageous trading partner with the Domain.

Yes, the Domain was suffering crippling food, labor and resource shortages. But this was not the proper response to such dire circumstances. The Federation had even offered help with periodic shipments of needed supplies to nearby drala colonies... and in turn the Domain repaid the favor by wiping out most of their military fleet.

Admiral Taeskea didn't care what his intelligence personnel and superiors told him, the Federation was going to retaliate no matter the cost, and the ensuing battle would undoubtedly lead to many senseless casualties; all to acquire a new planet and several colony asteroids of little strategic and resource usefulness. Just because some political figureheads felt the risk was worth taking no matter the cost of life.

Not only was the Federation a problem, the humans were no doubt going to put up one hell of a fight as well. Taeskea couldn't believe his superiors thought humanity would not pose an obstacle to the invasion force. He had voiced this concern to the higher-ups vehemently; nevertheless, his apprehension had been pushed aside as unwarranted.

The order was clear; secure the planet and take control of the native government and military infrastructure. Once the humans were effectively under Domain rule, measures could then be taken to install a colony government under the direct influence of the drala, and the planet's resources exploited to ease the shortages across the territory. The notion was simple, and completely unreasonable. Not when the Federation was looming in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack without mercy.

And then there was also the problem of the Confederate Dominion and Mirtux Territory, two powerful allies of the Federation. By Taeskea's understanding, each region was under a mutual agreement to militarily come to the aid of its neighbors in the event of hostile actions. If either territory stepped into the fray, it would no doubt end any hope of the Domain's bold plan succeeding. However, another unsettling fact had made itself known to the admiral. This was not a war singularly between the Federation and the Domain.

In a carefully coordinated orchestration between stellar powers, precise and lethal first-strike assaults had also been carried out by the sorrlator and algardions against their respective neighboring regions, in conjunction with the drala attack on the Federation fleet. How the Domain had managed to pull off convincing these territories to declare war was beyond Taeskea.

Hell, the algardions had been at war with his kind not all that long ago... and now they were cooperating with the drala? The idea just didn't make sense. He could see why the sorrlator wanted to reignite their conflict with the mirtux, perhaps to try dealing a crippling blow in hopes of securing more territory. But, the algardion attack on the powerful Confederate Dominion held little benefit for a race that had been prospering in a peaceful state.

Well, the matter was completely out of Admiral Taeskea's hands. His task was to maintain the integrity of his invasion fleet, and ward off any hostile advances toward Earth. However, the operation had not started off on the right foot... as he expected.

Already it seemed that things weren't going Taeskea's way. During the initial assault to subdue all of the local government figureheads, one particular individual had succeeded in slipping away. The American president, as the human was called, had managed to elude capture for some time. Nonetheless, the assault unit sent to seize the official had managed to corner him eventually... only to suddenly take fire from an unidentified contact.

A dropship had been blown clean out of the sky, and numerous infantry unexpectedly killed by a shadowy enemy. After analyzing the weapon signature of the damage to the vessel, an engineering team determined that the armament of origin was a Federation shoulder-fired anti-armor weapon.

So, already his enemies were coordinating with one another. It appeared that an element of the Federation was already planetside. The news was troubling. But then again, Taeskea had expected such difficulties for an operation of so large a scale. The drala admiral figured the Federation contingent on the surface consisted of only a few personnel. There was no way a larger force could hide itself so effectively on the planet without drawing attention. Hopefully they would prove to be only a minor nuisance.

However, now was not the time for Admiral Taeskea to worry about a handful of Federation soldiers. With a subtle shake of the head, the drala turned away from the breathtaking view of planet Earth to regard the flurry of activity taking place on the bridge of his starship.

The spacecraft he currently found himself aboard was that of a Heleos class fighter carrier. Distinguished as the largest class of starship in the Domain arsenal, the Heleos carrier was comprised of several bulky rectangular hull segments attached together lengthwise to form the entire ship. The idea behind this particular design concept was to compartmentalize the carrier and give redundant backup capability in case of severe battle damage.

As such, each segment of the ship retained an independent power core, maneuvering thrusters, and a backup command bridge. In the event a hull structure was severely damaged, that specific section could be ejected from the ship and the remaining pieces rejoined. This feature also allowed for hull segments to be swapped out for maintenance while the spacecraft still remained battle-ready.

The Heleos class encompassed five total hull sections. Her slipstream engines sat mounted on two stubby wing assembles located on either side of the aft section, while four impulse drives were attached above and below with two per side. Bristling with numerous formidable armaments, she was a military vessel not to be taken lightly. Yet, her primary role was to simply transport and maintain a large wing of fighter spacecraft that could be launched to support the fleet in battle. Consequently, the job of duking it out with the big guns was typically left to the slightly smaller battle cruisers.

The main command bridge Admiral Taeskea currently stood on happened to be located underneath the forward hull section, in a fashion opposite from most typical starship designs. The view was always nice outside the bridge windows; nevertheless, he would've preferred the command compartment be located as deep within the ship's hull as possible. There was not much armor to protect the bridge from a carefully aimed hostile weapon shot.

As Taeskea watched silently, numerous command personnel sat at their tactical stations, each working to coordinate a small part of the sizeable operation currently underway. With most government objectives now secure, the Domain's focus now had turned to the military aspect of the invasion.

The idea was to take advantage of the confusion to detain or destroy all major military installations and hardware the human's possessed, effectively removing the race's ability to wage war while they were still uncoordinated. The higher-ups did not count on humanity putting up anything more than a meager defense, which would undoubtedly be pushed aside with the proverbial flick of the wrist. However, Taeskea knew better. There was far more danger to this race than his superiors gave credit.

For one thing, the humans retained the capability of mass destruction fission type weapons. While the capital starships would probably escape serious damage from such a weapon, the smaller dropships and fighter aircraft that did not possess energy shielding would be wiped out. So logic dictated that the admiral remove the weapons from the equation by dispatching assault teams to secure all of the human intercontinental ballistic missile installations.

Already, untold numbers of dropships had descended down toward the surface with each assigned a specific target to occupy and control. The plan was for these advanced elements to proceed toward their objectives until resistance was encountered with the enemy. Once contact was made with human defensive elements, Taeskea would only deploy capital ships and fighter spacecraft units to back up the assault teams meeting more serious opposition. By doing so, he could keep the majority of the fleet in orbit while still securing the military objectives. Hopefully, most of the human military would still be too disordered to mount an effective defensive plan.

At that moment, the admiral's thoughts were interrupted by an aide approaching his position. The drala practically shrank away from Taeskea's gaze, something that always unnerved the ranking officer greatly.

"Sir, most elements of the assault force are reporting heavy contact with human defenses," the aide spoke tentatively, as he tried to keep himself from stuttering in the company of such an imposing admiral as Taeskea. "Reports are coming in. Several units are taking heavy casualties."

The last words came with an undertone of doubt, as if the aide didn't believe the information he was receiving. Conversely, Admiral Taeskea was not completely surprised by the report; although, he had hoped the humans would be less capable of inflicting damage to his forces. That problem would soon be corrected however.

"Give the order to proceed onto the next phase of the assault," the admiral commanded with authority. "Allocate battle cruisers and fighter wings to the regional commanders. We must break humanity's resolve to fight promptly."

The order was swiftly passed down the chain of command, while Admiral Taeskea again assumed his prominent position gazing silently out the large bridge window to the planet below. As he watched, the battle cruiser orbiting only a few ship-lengths ahead of his carrier began to adjust its course using maneuvering thrusters. Slowly the imposing starship floated down away from his vantage point, before disappearing out of view as the hull vectored in to enter the atmosphere of Earth.

At that same moment, a wing of fighter aircraft flew silently by the carrier and banked downward to join up as escorts for the battle cruiser. Taeskea couldn't help but feel remorse for the atrocity he was taking part in. This race of intelligent life did not deserve so cruel a fate as this. Yet, he had sworn an oath to serve his kind, and if this grim task was required of him... then his soul be damned in eternal afterlife.

Captain Richard Davis yanked up forcefully on his control stick, while throwing the rudder pedal hard over to heave his F-22 into a gut-wrenching corkscrew twist. Briskly the plane responded to his commands as the pilot was powerfully shoved sideways against his seat restraints. A lance of sickening green plasma bolts suddenly filled the air, where the Raptor would've been had he not abruptly changed course.

Desperately the gunners of the six remaining Domain dropships filled the sky with spears of deadly green plasma bolts, trying in vain to ward off the circling human aircraft that continued to attack like a swarm of angry bees. The hapless drala personnel aboard had never imagined the primitive military weapons of humanity could shoot their armored vessels right out of the sky... and now that horrifying fact was certainly making itself known in quite the deadly fashion.

To Davis's observation, the hostile alien contacts took the shape of bulky square-shaped hull designs. The ungainly black craft seemed to be supported by four engine nacelles mounted to each corner of the vessel. The bastards were quite difficult targets to kill, since each downed ship had required numerous hits from missile strikes before falling from the sky. However, the pilot had made an important discovery while continuing his attack.

The weak points of these alien craft seemed to be that of the engine nacelles. Only a single hit from a Sidewinder or Slammer to one of these four targets was enough to cripple the ship. This single weakness was all the humans needed to tip the balance of power in their favor. The hostiles seemed to realize this fact, with the formation breaking off its descent down to the airbase below. Now the remaining vessels were engaged in an intricate weaving defensive pattern, each craft bringing its guns to bear on any fighter aircraft that strayed within range.

Already Talon Flight had exhausted its complement of AIM-120 standoff weapons. Consequently, the real dogfight had begun, as the various fighter wings closed to visual range on the formation of the remaining enemy. Each F-22 now only had two short-range Sidewinders and five seconds of ammo for the onboard M61A2 20mm Cannon. Hopefully that would be enough firepower to finish off the stragglers.

Still caught up in the stomach-turning corkscrew maneuver, Davis suddenly applied full afterburner and kicked the ailerons full over in the opposite direction. The change of course again threw off the aim of the point-defense turret atop the nearest dropship as the tracers overshot his position. Now with his momentum quickly diminishing, the pilot expertly leveled the plane off in a step dive to acquire more speed, subsequently dropping below the threshold of the turret's aiming field.

At that moment, he brought up the targeting pip for the heat seeking Sidewinder missile. In a symphony of careful orchestration, Davis suddenly jerked violently up on the control stick, causing the elevators and thrust vectoring nozzles to rapidly push the nose of his plane skyward while speed was rapidly burned off. Immediately a cape of water vapor condensed along the upper surface of the aircraft fuselage as the air pressure dropped dramatically.

The nauseating maneuver brought Captain's Davis's targeting sight almost perfectly into line with the alien dropship above. At that moment, a steady low-pitched growl emanated from the headphones of his helmet, signaling that the Sidewinder missile seeker head was active. Without a moment's hesitation, the captain depressed the weapon button on his control stick, causing the firing sequence to initiate.

At once the side weapon bay door of the F-22 sprang open to reveal the missile within. Promptly thereafter, a hydraulic release pushed the weapon free of the rack and out away from the aircraft fuselage. As Davis started nosing his aircraft over into a steep dive away from the dropship, the Sidewinder's solid rocket motor ignited and pushed the weapon upward toward the target.

Quickly the heat seeking sensors of the missile locked onto the massive thermal plume of the nearest engine assembly. Before the nose of Captain Davis's Raptor came to point downward, the Sidewinder found its mark and detonated just below the dropship.

Explosive fragments impacted the nacelle assembly in quite a brutal fashion, mangling the internal components of the engine while also severing several key control surface lines. With an exclamation of utter horror, the pilot of the doomed dropship realized he had lost almost all control of the ship's attitude and pitch. However, the drala tried desperately to fight the sudden asymmetrical thrust caused by the loss of an engine.

The effort would prove to be useless, as the dropship suddenly toppled over into an uncontrollable plunge, to eventually smash into the below landscape with terrible force.

"Splash one enemy," Captain Davis exclaimed over his radio with satisfaction. "Talon, form up on me."

His wingmen acknowledged the command and formed up behind their leader, while Davis witnessed another dropship succumb to the withering fire of a Eurofighter 27mm cannon. Just four more enemy spacecraft to dispatch, then the wing could return to Spangdahlem, to refuel and rearm.

"FAST MOVERS INBOUND!"

The unexpected exclamation over the radio frequency caught Davis completely off guard. The pilot felt his blood run cold, as he swiftly scanned the nearby sky for any unidentified targets.

Suddenly, a thin lance of sinister solid green plasma descended down from the heavens, slicing clean through the wing structure of Talon Two just off the captain's port side. Before his wingman could react to the sudden attack, the F-22's fuselage blew apart in a brilliant trail of fiery wreckage. Quickly the destroyed aircraft fell away from the formation, as Davis suddenly realized he was in immediate danger.

"BREAK!" Talon Lead screamed into his oxygen mask.

The remaining three Raptors each pulled sharply away from their initial fight path, just as another beam of plasma cut through the sky right between the scattering aircraft. As his plane briefly pointed toward the heavens, Davis caught sight of a black dot fast approaching his position... and this contact was moving fast!

Thinking quickly, the pilot shoved his controls to the limits, effectively side slipping the F-22 horizontally as the aircraft continued to climb for more altitude. At that fleeting moment another plasma beam materialized from the approaching hostile ship and sliced through the air right where his Raptor had previously been.

"Jesus Christ!" Davis breathed hoarsely, as he strained against the punishing G-forces the aircraft maneuvering was exerting on his body.

The small spacecraft quickly rocketed by directly alongside the F-22 in a blur of motion. Regaining his composure somewhat, the captain forced the nose of his plane over to dive after the contact, intent on repaying the aliens for the death of his wingman and friend. This new bastard was far faster and more maneuverable than the bulky ships he had already encountered.

Kicking in the afterburners, the Raptor quickly built up speed in pursuit. In the meantime, the alien ship had already initiated a rapid climb to bleed off excess speed, allowing for Davis to close the distance to the target. At that moment, the pilot got his first look at the new hostile unit.

Unlike the ungainly dropships, the Domain fighter was of a much sleeker design. Roughly resembling a manta ray, the vessel hull was composed of a single uniform wing, with the cockpit canopy positioned along the forward surface and two impulse engines housed in shrouded positions along the aft wing exterior. A two man fighter, the vessel also retained a backward facing gunner position much like the concept seen in WWII bomber aircraft.

The wicked black silhouette of the drala fighter was an intimidating sight. No matter... if this bastard wanted to play, Captain Davis would happily oblige. With grim determination, the pilot worked to bring his aircraft up behind the Domain fighter... until all hell suddenly broke loose.

An intense flash of light unexpectedly caught his attention from below. Turning to look out the canopy sideways, Davis bore witness to the horrifying sight of the airfield's tower collapsing in a fierce explosion, after taking a direct hit from a Domain beam cannon... Jesus... the command staff was in that building!

Simultaneously, screams and shouts of panic rose up from the plane's radio, as nearby pilots battled desperately to combat the sudden swarm of Domain fighters overrunning the sky. Where the hell had these reinforcements come from?!

Mercilessly, human aircraft were systematically blotted from the sky under the barrage of alien weapon fire. Pilots vainly fought back, dodging and maneuvering to avoid the aim of their alien foes. However, there were just too many contacts; hostiles that seemed to be capable of reading every twist and turn the human fighters could perform with ease. One by one, the defenders were overwhelmed.

Captain Davis's vision tunneled in on the lone Domain fighter he had within his sights. Fuck... he was going to kill this son of a bitch no matter how long it took him. Suddenly the hostile leveled off and flew straight toward a distant mountain... no wait, that wasn't a mountain... what the hell was it?!

The captain's hand came off the control stick of his aircraft as he stared wide-eyed at the huge object that seemed to just float in the sky. God... he was looking at a massive starship!

Employing a similar hull design as the Heleos carrier, the Tayyla class battle cruiser was nearly half a mile long from bow to stern. Bristling with massive deck guns and a formidable complement of supporting armaments, she was a starship designed to slug it out against other capital vessels.

Sudden grim realization seized Captain Davis's awareness, while he gazed awkwardly through the fighter canopy to the massive vessel that loomed nearby... this was a battle he could not hope to win.

"It would seem that my war is over," the pilot breathed softly to himself. "God have mercy on humanity."

At that instant a brilliant beam of plasma from a cruiser deck gun fully enveloped the meager airframe of the sole remaining human aircraft, completely removing pilot and plane from existence before the weapon shot impacted a nearby hill in an enormous explosion. And so the brief but deadly skirmish over Spangdahlem Airbase came to a harsh conclusion, paving the way for the Domain assault force to seize control of the military installation.

Captain Ian Rubin stood rigidly still, attempting to maintain his cool in the face of imminent danger. When the shit hit the fan, it was his job to assume command and act as a figurehead of leadership... but damnit if he didn't feel nervous as all hell, since he was in an exceptionally vulnerable position on that particular ominous morning.

Over the past week, Captain Rubin had been stationed at Norfolk Naval Base, Virginia as part of an ongoing international war game exercise between America and her allies. However, his actual home port of call was Kings Bay, Georgia; a naval base that held the distinction of being home to one of the deadliest military forces known to man.

Rubin was a submarine driver, or more specifically, captain of the Ohio class ballistic missile submarine USS Maryland. The weapon of choice for such a military platform... none other than 24 Trident II D-5 ballistic missile platforms, each housing five multiple independently targetable reentry vehicle warheads. As such, the primary role of the Maryland was to act as a nuclear deterrent; and if required, a first-strike strategic platform.

But, as a submarine, the Ohio class was nothing more than a sitting duck if stuck floating on the water surface. And that exposed position was just where Captain Rubin currently found himself while in command of such a vital strategic asset, in the midst of sudden unforgiving war.

The captain stood prominently atop the conning tower of the Maryland as the submarine glided slowly down the Chesapeake Bay toward the nearby open ocean. The order he had been given was clear, concise, and downright urgent; cast off from the naval base, get to open ocean, and go deep to hide. Oh, did Rubin wish to fulfill those orders with upmost haste.

The Ohio class of missile submarine was renowned for its ability to remain undetected. The common joke among sub mariners was that in order to find such a stealthy target, one simply had to locate the quietest hole in the ocean. However, the impressive technology of the boat was useless while she was unable to dive in shallow waters such as the Chesapeake.

Thankfully, the Maryland wasn't alone. Across the Bay area, various warships were also putting to sea after casting off from Norfolk hurriedly. At the moment an Arleigh Burke class destroyer, the USS Mason, cruised the waters just forward of the Ohio sub, while a Ticonderoga class guided missile cruiser, the USS Normandy, took up the rear position on guard.

Just a couple more miles, and then the Maryland would in safe waters... God... Rubin hoped the sub was stealthy enough to elude the alien hostiles. The thought of an Ohio falling victim to their adversary was just too grim a notion to consider.

Abruptly Captain Rubin was snapped out of his dire thoughts by the nearby petty officer on lookout duty.

"Captain, unidentified aerial contact, bearing 2-4-0," the sailor spoke with alarm, while holding up a pair of binoculars. "Judging by the current distance, it is... Christ I have no fucking idea what the hell it is!"

Without pause, the captain raised his own binoculars toward the bearing indicated by the petty officer. He soon found the massive hull of a Domain battle cruiser hovering ominously right over Norfolk Naval Base. The colossal starship was floating roughly a thousand feet in the air, defying the laws of gravity in a way no object of such mass should be capable of accomplishing.

Captain Rubin felt a knot form in his stomach as he reached over to the communication horn leading down to the sub's control room, knowing that his executive officer, commonly called an XO, would be waiting for orders on the other end.

"Buck, get on the horn with the Mason and tell 'em to speed things up now," Rubin spoke into the handheld comm device with an undertone of urgency. He did not want to be around if that ungodly ship decided to head over his way.

"Aye captain."

An intense flash of light suddenly drew the attention of everyone standing atop the conning tower back toward Norfolk, and a scene of utter terror.

As the fleet had hurriedly departed the naval base to put to sea, the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise remained docked to the pier as her hull underwent maintenance for the ship's upcoming deployment. With her nuclear reactors powered down, the carrier would be unable to move for at least two days, leaving her stricken to port. The silhouette of the massive ship was still easily visible on the horizon from the vantage point of Maryland, which allowed the sub crew to bear witness to the famous vessel's terrible demise.

Deadly lances of green plasma raked the carrier hull repeatedly from the deck guns of the hovering battle cruiser. Her flight deck was easily torn apart by the barrage as the weapon shots impacted deep down into the heart of the carrier's decks. After only moments, the massive hull of the Enterprise buckled and blew apart in an intense shower of fragmented metal and twisted hull segments, causing her outline to disappear from the horizon in the early morning light.

"My God," a sailor exclaimed in stunned horror, his words echoing the thoughts of the others. After a few eerie moments of silence, a dull series of explosive reports reached the conning tower of the sub, announcing the end of the ill-fated carrier.

"Man Battle Stations," Captain Rubin replied quietly, as he watched billowing clouds of smoke begin to waft up from the wreckage of the Enterprise. He still couldn't dive as the water was just too shallow.

The order was promptly passed down to the control room of the Maryland, causing an alarm to blare throughout the boat. At once the ship's crew rushed to man their stations, as the submarine prepared for impending combat operations. After only a few moments the sub was rigged for warfare.

"XO reports stations manned and ready," the petty officer now holding the communication horn replied. "He is also relaying word that the Mason is now making turns for 10 knots."

"Acknowledged. Match their course and speed."

There was no time to mourn for the dead.

Almost immediately the water surrounding the aft rudder assembly of the sub started to churn more violently, while the propeller ramped up its RPM to accelerate the submarine. Captain Rubin hoped to God that the aliens didn't realize just how much of America's nuclear arsenal was stored within the fragile confines of his boat. If their weapons could gut the Enterprise in mere seconds, just how would the Maryland fare?

After what seemed like an eternity, the submarine and her two surface ship escorts crossed over the submerged tunnel portion of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Now cruising steadily at 10 knots, the contingent of warships was making good time clearing the immediate area, all while that unearthly starship continued to hover over Norfolk. However, circumstances were about to take a turn for the worst.

"Captain, surface ships are reporting inbound fast movers," the communication officer suddenly spoke urgently. "We're going to have company."

His statement was punctuated by a destroyer roughly a mile east of the Maryland's position unleashing a surface-to-air missile, commonly referred to as a SAM, from its vertical launcher assembly.

Each captain of the 21 military warships within the general area had quickly agreed over the broadcast frequency to not fire any ordnance toward the massive capital starship. It was rightfully assumed that the act would be comparable to throwing a rock at an Abrams main battle tank, a notion similar to poking a beehive with a stick. However, with smaller fast moving hostile contacts approaching the fleet, the game plan abruptly changed.

In a thunderous roar that startled the sub crew standing atop the conning tower, a RIM-66M SAM missile leapt skyward from the aft vertical launch tube of the USS Mason. Quickly the weapon angled itself to point downrange, before rapidly soaring out of sight to leave only a thin trail of exhaust in its wake.

Not to be outdone, the USS Normandy replied with her own deafening report of two simultaneous surface-to-air missile launches from just behind the Maryland, each weapon swiftly streaking downrange to find its target. Promptly the rest of the destroyer and cruiser fleet joined in the fray as each vessel added their contribution to the formidable volley of SAM missiles screaming into the sky.

Captain Rubin watched in rapt silence as the cascade of rocket exhaust trails extended up out of his sight. Suddenly, small blips of light marked distant explosions as the missiles found their marks, the silent reports strikingly eerie for the sub captain to witness from his vantage point.

Several distinct trails of thick black smoke soon could be seen spiraling down to earth in twisting corkscrew patterns, filling the sub crew with delight to see the warship armaments hitting home. At least the enemy wasn't impervious to the military's weapon capabilities.

However, the elation would be short lived... soon giving rise to outright terror.

The captain's thoughts were brutally interrupted by a thin beam of superheated plasma lancing down from the heavens just forward of the Maryland. Time seemed to slow, and almost come to a standstill, while the USS Mason's hull was consumed by the concentrated energy blast.

Before any sailors aboard the submarine realized what was transpiring, the destroyer's hull exploded in a shower of broken metal and burning fuel, creating a concussion wave that knocked Captain Rubin off his feet atop the conning tower. The powerful plasma bolt easily penetrated the upper decks of the Mason, before severing the ship's keel to seal her fate.

After pulling himself upright again, the captain came to witness the horrid scene of the destroyer hull tearing apart amid a flaming pool of spilt fuel. Quickly, the separated segments of the warship began to list awkwardly as water flooded into the gaping hole across her keel... her sailors would only have moments to escape the deadly confines of the doomed ship before she slid beneath the waterline.

Snapping out of his daze, Captain Rubin leaped across the conning tower platform to practically snatch the communication horn out of the petty officer's stunned hand.

"Con, Right full rudder!" he ordered hastily to the crew stationed within the control room. "All back full!"

There was no time to acknowledge the command below as the sailors leapt into action. Going from a steady speed of 10 knots into full reverse was not an order that was given often on a submarine. That fact, on top of the muffled explosion felt below was more than enough incentive to swiftly carry out the demand.

Along the aft compartment of the Maryland the two geared steam turbines connected to the driving shaft were suddenly shifted into reverse, rapidly slowing the rotational speed of the single propulsion screw before reversing its direction. The resulting force imparted to the sub hull caused the boat to shudder violently, while the propeller fought to counter the forward momentum of the vessel.

As the wreckage of the destroyer loomed ominously before the Maryland, the Ohio submarine juddered swiftly to a stop, while the rudder forced her bow sideways onto a new course of open water. Meanwhile, noticing the sub's abrupt change in course, the captain of the Normandy ordered his boat hard to port. In a maneuver of grace, the cruiser hull heeled over away from the wreckage with the warship listing noticeably under the sudden shift of momentum.

Once the immediate danger had passed, Captain Rubin assessed the situation quickly, deciding rapidly that he had to act.

"Everyone below decks now!" he ordered to the crew stationed around him. "Rig the ship for crash dive. Let the Normandy know we are going on alone. Fuckers are starting World War III, and I sure as shit don't want to be bobbing around on the surface as an easy target."

The submarine sailors wasted no time scrambling below deck, while the USS Normandy spooled up her four gas turbine engines and accelerated away from the Maryland to continue her fight against the aerial contacts.

Captain Rubin was the last person to slide down the conning tower ladder, as he emerged into the relatively dark confines of the boat's control room. Quickly he turned to close the hatch behind him, before dogging it down tight, sealing the Maryland off from the outside world.

"Captain, the board shows all hatches closed and secure," the XO spoke professionally, after checking for a clean row of green indicator lights across the condition console. "The ship is airtight and ready to dive."

"Very good. What is the current depth condition?"

"Sir, currently I am reading a depth of 100 feet," the Helmsman ensign reported from his station.

"That will have to do," Captain Rubin replied evenly as he gripped a nearby handrail firmly. "Helm, make your depth 70 feet, five degree down bubble. Come to new course heading 9-0... All ahead flank."

"Aye captain... making my depth 70 feet, five degree down bubble. Coming to new course 9-0. All ahead flank."

Carefully, the pilot at the helm station eased the control yoke forward, causing the diving planes located on the sub's sail and tail to rotate downward. At that same moment, the ballast tanks were partially vented of air to remove positive buoyancy. As a result, the USS Maryland slowly slipped beneath the water surface, entering her natural environment while leaving the chaos of the battle behind. After a few moments, the diving planes were reversed to a positive angle, causing the Ohio class submarine to again level off on a horizontal orientation.

Once at depth, the rudder surface was gradually eased over to bring the Maryland to the desired heading, while the prop churned angrily against the water at maximum RPM. Swiftly the submarine built up her pace, as the vessel's teardrop hull design allowed for faster speed while fully submerged.

"Sir, my depth is 70 feet," the helmsman added after he had brought the control yoke to a neutral position. "New course heading 9-0."

"Engine room reporting all ahead flank," the XO chimed in as he eyed the gauges of the helm console.

"Very good," Rubin replied calmly, before flicking a switch at his station to bring up a voice channel to the sonar room. "Sonar, what is the situation outside?"

"Sonar, Con... no submerged hostile contacts to report," came the reply over the control speaker. "However, our warships are taking one hell of a beating, sir. Multiple surface explosions and hull breakup sounds all across the bay."

"Understood," Rubin responded with an even tone that belied the utter horror he was feeling. Christ... good men and women were dying up there... and here he was hiding beneath the water, unable to help his brothers in arms.

If the surface fleet was being torn up so badly, it stood to reason that the Maryland would be found next, if she wasn't already painted across the sensors of some alien warplane right this moment. The submarine couldn't fight back against airborne threats, so the best weapon they had was to hide. But, that measure was surely not effective against a technologically advanced enemy such as these hostiles.

So, Captain Rubin had to come up with another defensive measure to protect his ship... but what could he do? What additional weapons did he have at his disposal to defend his sub? Her standard arsenal would not do, so he had to think unconventionally.

And suddenly... he had an idea. It certainly wasn't foolproof. But it could make all the difference when the shit hit the fan for USS Maryland.

"Buck... I want you to organize a team," the captain began, catching his XO off guard. "Gather any loose materials you can find that aren't bolted down to the ship and bring what you find to the torpedo room. Also bring several drums of lubrication oil from the storage closets."

"What?! Why?" his second in command spoke with confusion.

"We're going to sink our ship."

His comment had certainly confused the entire staff of the submarine control room. But after some initial explaining, the captain's plan had been carried out with upmost haste. Now the objective was to swiftly depart the immediate area, and hopefully escape into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean to fight another day. At flank speed, USS Maryland was making just over 30 knots speed, a fairly reputable headway for a completely submerged vessel.

The battle above the water surface had gone eerily quiet, implying that the fleet of destroyers and cruisers had been blotted out of existence. There would be time to grieve for the fallen later. Now, only the survival of their vessel mattered to those aboard. Yet, her shield of warships was no more, leaving the sub open to attack.

"Reactor status update?" Captain Rubin inquired from the captain's chair.

"Core temperature is stable at 105% output," an ensign replied from a nearby console. "Steam pressure is at maximum tolerance levels."

"Acknowledged. XO... what is the..."

The captain's words were suddenly and viciously cut off as the sub shook violently with an explosion rippling across her hull. The control yoke of the helmsman station suddenly failed, while the Maryland lost rudder and stern plane maneuverability.

Abruptly the bow pitched upward as the crew not secured to seats lost their footing with the deck heaving about, while a strong vibration began to ferociously shake the hull.

"Purge the ballast tanks!" Rubin shouted over the shrill of alarms suddenly blaring throughout the control room. "All stop! Sound collision alarm!"

The ballast operators frantically worked to expel the air from the double hull of the submarine, while the propeller was hastily idled. The Maryland was now effectively out of control.

Collision alarms shrieked, crew members braced themselves, and chaos reigned supreme.

"Eject the torpedo tubes!" the captain barely managed to command after thumbing a comm channel to the torpedo room.

As the Ohio submarine barreled out of control down to the seafloor below, an ensign within the torpedo bay of the vessel barely managed to reach over and depress the manual ejection control on two of the weapon tubes. In a puff of highly pressurized air, the contents of both conduits were forcefully ejected out into the surrounding water.

Lifejackets, seat cushions, anything that floated... all manner of objects had been collected by the crew and hurriedly mashed into the launching tubes normally reserved for Mark-48 torpedoes. By expelling these random articles at the instant the sub was hit, the resulting field of clutter that floated to the surface would take the form of a fake debris field. The idea was to fool the hostile aircraft into thinking the Maryland was fatally crippled. An added effect came in the form of several opened lubrication oil barrels mixed in with the clutter, providing quite the convincing oil slick.

Of course this plan was only feasible if the first hit sustained to the missile boat wasn't fatal... a gamble that Rubin had hinged on.

Cringing, the captain braced himself as the submarine bow smashed into the soft sooty seafloor of the Chesapeake Bay. The force of impact was quite powerful, as the whole vessel seemed to shudder under the terrible collision.

Finally, the Maryland came to a stop, her forward hull almost completely buried under soot with a slight list to her port side.

"Rig ship for quick quiet," Captain Rubin commanded after he let out the breath he had been holding.

At once all non-essential systems were powered down. Additionally, the reactor was brought down to a near inactive setting, while all idle crew members quickly climbed into their bunks and settled in for a long and grueling wait. In effect, the sub became a silent hole within the ocean, hoping that her enemy would not strike again.

"Damage reports?" Rubin inquired.

"No compartment flooding reported," the XO exclaimed with overwhelming relief. "I think we sustained a glancing shot."

"Sir, before we bottomed out, I lost all helm control of the stern planes and rudder," the helmsman chimed in grimly. "I also received screw vibration warnings on my display. I believe we took a hit to our prop and aft control surfaces."

"We should count ourselves lucky the hit didn't breach a compartment," Captain Rubin spoke calmly. "We'll worry about the damage once the immediate danger has passed. Now we just need the aliens to take the bait."

Circling high above the grounded USS Maryland, a lone Domain fighter surveyed the ocean surface below. Just moments before, the drala pilot had lanced several weapon shots toward the submerged human target via the main plasma cannon mounted underneath the airframe. He was sure at least one pulse had connected with the target. Now he just needed to confirm the vessel's destruction.

At that moment, the pilot caught sight of a debris field floating on the surface. So, he had fatally crippled the target. Judging by the large oil slick and amount of floating objects, the ship was destroyed. That fact was confirmed by his sensors showing the vessel resting awkwardly on the ocean bottom... mission accomplished.

With a sigh of weariness, the drala pilot angled his spacecraft back toward the battle cruiser still hovering over Norfolk, moving back to resume his patrol of the immediate airspace. The fighter swiftly passed over a floating field of mangled warship debris, an appalling scar splayed across the ocean to mark the horrific battle fought by the humans.

"Better them than me," the pilot spoke somberly, before he turned his attention back to his sensors.

Riyla felt so helpless, confined to her starship while she bore witness to the methodical destruction of humanity. All her crew could do was hide, and hope the humans continued to fight and resist the rapid onslaught of the Domain advance against their world. However, the odds were not in favor of Earth, as the human populace was technologically outmatched in every way possible.

The captain currently found herself alone on the bridge of Arastos, as she watched via a holographic display the terrible destruction raging just miles from the starship's underwater location. She stared intently with her wolfish gaze at the topographic depiction before her, while the black-furred kyree's tail remained rigid behind her form with anxiety.

Since the surprise attack against the Federation space station, Riyla had been incapacitated with a severe concussion, leaving the captain bedridden over the past day. Only a couple hours ago, she had finally been filled in on what had transpired while the kyree was unconscious... astonishing and infuriating her in a turmoil of mixed emotions.

Never would she have figured the drala were responsible for the vicious attack against the Federation. Not only that, but they had killed hundreds of thousands just to take possession of a single planet?! What mad political figurehead could justify such a heinous crime just to expand their territorial borders?

Not only was Earth the central focus for starting this war, Kano had explained to her dispassionately that the act of rescuing the human crew from the International Space Station had most likely set into motion this disastrous chain of events. The idea filled the kyree with utter dread... her decision, that one fleeting choice, to go against Federation doctrine and rescue a handful of alien astronauts... her choice was the reason for all of this senseless death.

The captain's fists suddenly squeezed tight with a sudden wave of guilt and despair as she closed her eyes painfully. Oh, how the kyree wished she could go back and undo the fateful choice she made. Nevertheless, the past could not be rewritten, and Riyla now had to focus her efforts toward keeping her ship, crew... and new passengers out of harm's way. There would be time to reflect upon her decisions later, since the starship needed its captain now more than ever.

Riyla gave a shake of her head to clear her thoughts, and again focused the sum of her attention on analyzing the situation at hand.

Thankfully, the black-furred kyree had Lumina to help observe enemy movements. The A.I. was currently tied directly into the Domain battle net, as the feeble security measures of their network were easily defeated by the construct. So far Lumina only endeavored to observe and analyze information across the net, making sure to not tip off the drala that their system was breeched. When the time was right, she would make sure to really do some damage, and wreak havoc with their communications.

Now with firsthand information concerning the enemy's whereabouts and strategies, the captain could attempt to keep one step ahead of their plans.

Surely the Federation counterattack was being organized to strike back at these bastards as quickly as possible. Lumina had already dispatched a message relaying the current dismal situation on Earth, with information detailing the Domain invasion plan. Hopefully the Federation Axis fleet would regroup rapidly, and come to the aid of the overwhelmed humans soon. However, the lack of communication from the fleet was troubling, and boded ill for any assistance coming soon.

For the moment, the kyree was forced to sit and wait. There was just nothing she could do with the limited firepower of her starship, without compromising the safety of the crew. Though, when the time came to attack, Riyla would be sure to take advantage of her strategic position on the planet's surface. She may be outgunned, but that didn't matter when the element of surprise was on her side.

So far Arastos had gone undetected as she sat along the ocean floor just off the eastern coast of the United States. This had allowed the Federation crew and human passengers a couple hours of sorely needed sleep... until Lumina had woken Riyla and Kano at around 6:00am, to inform them that the drala were stepping up their invasion plans.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew, Keith included, continued to sleep soundly as they weren't needed just yet. It was best to allow everyone as much rest as possible, in case the situation took a turn for the worst in the near future.

Once awake, Kanolos had filled Riyla in on the daring rescue mission to save the President. Consequently, the captain knew that the Domain was aware of their presence at least on some level. Shooting a dropship out of the sky would certainly leave telltale clues as to who was responsible.

Additionally, that thought was not the only one that had crossed the captain's mind.

When her mate had finished with bringing Riyla up to speed on the situation, she had gone silent with an unreadable expression. Her silence confused Kano, until the kyree slapped him so hard across the muzzle that he actually reeled backward to trip over a table of their quarters.

"Don't you ever put yourself in such danger again," the captain had breathed quietly in seething anger. "Do you realize how devastated I would be to lose you?!"

Before Kano could speak, she had stormed out of their room toward the bridge, leaving her mate sprawled out on the floor with a look of hurt. That had been over an hour ago.

Riyla knew it wasn't right for her to be angry at Kanolos for his selflessness. But damn it, she did not like the idea of her mate picking up a rifle and throwing himself into danger. That is what they paid the infantry for, not a skilled starship pilot... and certainly not the one she loved.

The kyree sighed heavily as she forcefully shoved her personal feelings aside. Her mate had simply done his duty, and gone the extra step to save a group of individuals in dire need of help... and she had cruelly cut him down because of her selfish reasons.

"Lumina?" the captain suddenly called out as she thumbed a button to dissipate the holographic map.

Her words broke through the silence of the bridge, which had lengthened since she had bleakly watched the conflict unfold between the nearby human and Domain forces.

"Yes Captain Riyla... what do you need?" the A.I.'s disembodied voice replied sullenly.

"Where is Kano at?"

"He's in the mess hall at the moment. Shall I ask him to come to the bridge?" Lumina's voice spoke with a hint of unease.

"Please," was the captain's simple response.

There was a slight pause, before the construct worked up the nerve to express her opinion.

"I'm sorry captain, but what you did to Kano just wasn't fair."

The black-furred kyree's wolfish ears folded flat against her head in shame, as she looked down to the deck miserably. Lumina was certainly right, and Riyla had to make amends for her mistake.

"I know," the kyree spoke shamefully; mortified that the A.I. had been worried enough to speak up to her commanding officer... and Riyla didn't begrudge Lumina for her boldness at all.

Again silence took hold of the bridge while the captain waited restlessly. Finally, after a few minutes, the door leading out to the corridor behind the command space swished open to reveal the fox-furred kyree figure of Kanolos. He stood with a worried expression, as he held a thermos in one hand, and two drinking cups in the other.

Riyla wasted no time crossing the distance to her mate, as she moved to embrace him fondly. She just needed to hold him, and feel his comforting warmth and intimacy.

Suddenly forgotten by Kano, the thermos and cups swiftly clattered to the deck, while the two kyree came to hug one another tenderly.

"I'm sorry," the captain said as she rested her muzzle gently against Kano's shoulder. "I had no right to be mad at you."

"No need to apologize," her mate replied sincerely. "I should never have put myself and the other crew in such danger. The risk was just too great. The thought of losing you is absolutely unbearable. So I understand why you would be upset."

"Oh... we're going to need each other more than ever to get through this," Riyla breathed softly after a moment's pause. She pulled back to gaze lovingly into his golden eyes. "And I couldn't ask for anyone else to depend on but you."

The black-furred kyree began affectionately licking the side of Kano's muzzle, bathing his fur and whiskers with her canine tongue. Her mate closed his eyes and murred happily at the sensation as Riyla displayed her true love for him, while each kyree briefly forgot the troubles of the world around them.

However, after a few blissful moments, they had to come back to the here and now. Uttering a heavy sigh, Riyla pulled herself grudgingly away from Kano.

"We'll get through this," she stated with confidence, regarding her mate with a knowing expression. "The Domain will never get the upper hand on us. As long as we are still here, we'll outfox them at every turn."

"Without a doubt," Kano chimed in with a nod. "Our crew makes a formidable team."

The mated kyree held eye contact passionately for a brief moment, before Kanolos remembered the thermos he had carried up from the mess hall. The thought occurred to him that he had actually brought Riyla coffee in the same manner back when they first rescued the human astronauts a week ago. It was alarming just how different circumstances had been back then compared to now.

"I brought us some coffee," he added, while motioning over toward the beverage container resting sideways on the floor. "Would you like a cup to help wake up?"

"Oh... please, that would be lovely," Riyla spoke readily. She could use some help getting the gears turning in her head.

In response, Kanolos padded over to where the thermos and cups had come to rest along the deck, before he quickly reached down to pick the objects up. It was a good thing the kyree had thought to place the lid on the container; else, there'd be coffee all over the floor now.

Expertly he poured the contents of the thermos into the two cups. Once that was accomplished, he handed a drink to Riyla, who accepted the offered beverage with thanks. As it so happened, Kano had forgotten to bring along sweetener for his brew, resulting in the fox-furred kyree grimacing at the bitter taste after taking a sip. Nonetheless, he still endeavored to down the coffee no matter how much he disliked it.

"Alright Lumina," Riyla began, her demeanor taking on an air of professional seriousness. "What is the situation on the surface?"

A swirl of light suddenly appeared near the mated couple and whirled about in a helix pattern to form the white-furred kyree hologram of Lumina. Her expression was grim, as she regarded her counterparts while seemingly weighing her words carefully. There was no good news to be conveyed.

"The battle is over," the construct spoke solemnly, her holographic figure shifting uncomfortably where she stood with her wolfish tail swaying in counterbalance. "The human warship fleet has been almost completely wiped out. There are two destroyer hulls still afloat, with extensive structural damage. The rest of the surface fleet has been sunk."

"My God," Kano whispered, the full gravity of the situation quickly hitting home for the kyree. "All of those sailors..."

He couldn't finish his words.

"Are there any immediate aerial or surface threats?" Riyla continued evenly.

"The only hostile contacts are the Tayyla battle cruiser and a Domain fighter wing flying escort over Norfolk Naval Base. All human military hardware on location at the base has been destroyed."

"Even the aircraft carriers?!" the captain exclaimed in alarm.

"Only the Enterprise was docked at the time of attack. The cruiser sank her before the humans could put the vessel to sea. Thankfully, she was only manned by a skeleton crew of maintenance personnel, so casualties were... light."

Lumina suddenly seemed to stare into space, as she briefly surged her awareness into the drala tactical net. After a few moments, her gaze returned to the two kyree.

"The situation across the globe is the same unfortunately," the A.I. continued. "Human defensive forces are and have been engaging elements of the advanced Domain assault for about an hour now. There are some reports of casualties from the offensive drala units as a result of human resistance. However, most opposition has been neutralized at this point."

"They put up one hell of a fight," Kano remarked grimly.

"How are our passengers doing?" the captain inquired coolly, as she shifted her focus to within the confines of Arastos.

Never would she have expected to have the President of the United States aboard her starship before today. Now, thanks to the daring rescue mission carried out by her mate, that very individual resided on board Arastos, a refugee seeking shelter to escape capture by the Domain.

"The President and his four Secret Service agents are currently in one of the guest quarters," Lumina spoke while her hologram motioned toward the aft part of the ship. They didn't sleep much since arriving last night. I decided to keep them contained in the living space until I woke you two up."

"Was a good call," Riyla replied, rubbing the base of her muzzle with a hand in deep thought. "Honestly, I have no idea what we can do with them."

"Well I suppose we can wake Keith and..."

Lumina's words trailed off as her eyes again took on a distant far-off look.

"What is it?" Kano asked alarmingly, as a brief wave of fear washed across his awareness at the A.I.'s sudden distraction.

After a short-lived moment of tension, Lumina's attention returned to her flesh and blood colleagues as she shook her head in surprise.

"You're not going to believe this," the construct began again. "I had initially assumed the vessel was destroyed but it would seem that is not the case. SSBN-738... The USS Maryland... American Ohio class ballistic missile submarine."

"Isn't that one of the human's nuclear missile submarine platforms?" Riyla asked in surprise. "Those vessels pack enough ordnance to wipe out a continent!"

"The very same," Lumina responded. "She is currently bottomed out on the seafloor about 15 miles from our current location. It appears the captain of the submarine faked his ship's death to escape destruction. However the sub's propulsion screw and aft control surface assembly appear to be heavily damaged as a result of the earlier conflict."

This revelation certainly changed the situation drastically. Riyla quickly turned to regard Kanolos with a perceptive expression, before her mate nodded in agreement to the kyree's silent inquiry.

"Lumina wake the rest of the crew," the captain spoke keenly, while she moved to take her place at the captain's console on the bridge. "I think it is time to mount another rescue mission."