See Thy Triumph

[Omi]

//In the interests of not turning this into a massive mess, please check with either myself or John Wildkins before posting here.


Low Planetary Orbit - Leeds System

---

The bridge of the Chant du Cygne could have been a funeral parlour, and the ambience wouldn't have changed a bit. Various - mostly unimportant - personnel scurried around, their eyes darting nervously around the vast command center. Others sat at their stations, murmuring quietly to their neighbours - talking helped, if only a little. The mood was grim; the tension in the air so thick it could practically be cut with a knife.

Above the entire scene presided one particular figure, standing higher than all the others, alone on the command platform. Elevated above the rest of the bridge surface, this platform gave the Valor's captain access to all they could ever need - a full bank of consoles and screens providing all the necessary functionality. The technology on display was staggering in its complexity - and that was nothing compared to what lay beneath the surface. The Royal Navy's flagship was the epitome of Gallic military might, a reputation that was reflected right down to the last interior panel. Quite possibly, the safest place in the known universe was here - surrounded by state-of-the-art defensive systems - with multiple redundancies for each, should any fail - enough marines to hold a small island, and meters and meters of folded Ultralloy protecting the whole package from the cruel vacuum of space.

This was all very reassuring, but none of those facts were even the slightest comfort to the Grande Maréchale. Lucie leaned against the railing, glaring down at the bridge officers below with a critical, icy stare. Of course, that was just an expression - in truth, she just felt sick. The traditional butterflies in the stomach seemed to have turned into hornets - a transformation that the King's ultimatum had done nothing to help. The implications of failure had always been there, however much she'd tried to push those thoughts aside, but having it stated outright had brought all her worries to the fore once again.

They were valid concerns, too. Scouting reports were coming in more and more regularly as the enemy fleet advanced, and a terminal in front of her held all the pertinent information. The numbers displayed had long ago surpassed those of the ships she had available, and she hadn't checked it in a full ten minutes. Even the thought of glancing over there made her want to throw up.

Briefly, Lucie wondered how the rest of them were coping. Evreux and Charbonneau had said as little as possible in the High Command's hurried conference, limiting themselves to simple acknowledgements. Neither of the two were particularly sociable at the best of times, but she knew (or, rather, hoped) that they could be trusted to get the job done. Maybe their silence meant they were as nervous as she was. Meanwhile, the odious Lebeau was over a week away, standing watch with the reserve fleets. They hadn't even been able to get a video signal, although her subordinates had assured her that the good Général was on his way. And finally, Xavier had remained his usual cryptic self, spouting rhetoric from the far side of the system. Of all the relief fleets, his was likely to arrive first of all - and truth be told, Lucie was placing most of her faith in her predecessor's eventual arrival.

Suddenly, her reverie was interrupted by the blaring of a loud klaxon. Her stomach seemed like to twist inside out - that particular noise heralded a maximum-priority message, which, given the circumstances, was unlikely to be good news. Within seconds, the communications officer had acknowledged the hailing signal, and the bridge was at once filled with fuzzy audio:

"-say again, this is escadrille zéro-sept-trois, reporting gravimetric activity! The jump anomaly's readings are spiking - spiking hard!" The pilot's professionalism seemed to have collapsed - whether in fear or righteous excitement, Lucie couldn't tell. "Thousands of tons of mass is in transit - deploying straight into the eastern particle cloud. ETA, ten seconds or less. We'll have eyes on them short-"

The feed cut out with an ominous hiss, prompting a surge of muttering and whispering from all aboard. Lucie herself felt a momentary grip of sharp, white-hot fear, before she forced herself into action.

"Libertonian jamming," she declared, her voice amplified automatically by the bridge's equipment. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to regard her, and she desperately hoped that she looked more commanding than she felt. "That confirms their arrival." She took a deep breath, turning to the immense display behind her. Already, some quick-thinking officer had manually updated it, and the East Leeds Smog Cloud had been shaded an angry reddish colour. The blue icons representing her own fleet sat near the planet, in accordance with the orders she had long since dispensed. Thirteen Valors, fifty-six Obstinates, two hundred and fifty Perilouses, and a few thousand snubcraft were all she had - forces that were more than sufficient to pacify even the largest of incursions. Nobody had expected the Libertonians to order an all-out, do-or-die attack, though. Now, they stood massively outnumbered.

For the next couple of hours, all she could do was wait. It would be suicide to attempt to hold anything more than low orbit - charging into a smog cloud teeming with numerically superior forces would have been a tactical disaster. Instead, Lucie had no option but to grit her teeth and wait. The Libertonian behemoth was in motion, with all the momentum of a hundred thousand tons of well-coordinated steel and fighting men.

A behemoth that she had no choice but to stop.

---