The Sentinel Gate Affair, Episode VII: Memphis Blues

Continued from Episode VI: The Battle of Kerberos

          Colorado inhaled the reek of sweat and sadness that had settled about her bed. For nearly everyone else in Logansport that day had brought victory and celebration. The battle at Kerberos had been brilliant beyond the fledgling Republic’s dreams. The Terrans had walked in, expecting everything to be easy. Only a small mixed force of Burkhan Kaldun and Tahti ships had been in system to intercept them, which might just have been enough, though the arrogant High Lords back in their ancestral warrens probably wouldn’t haven’t credited it. They couldn’t have known a much more substantial Tartaran force was already inbound, weaving through the surreality of transit space, making the odds overwhelming.
          But the dwarves and their elfin allies had needed to hold the line at least long enough to prevent the Terrans slipping away before the hammer fell. And Lucas and Sir Stanley had been aboard the BKN flagship, Chinghis Khagan. She was the biggest target, so all the wrath of the Imperial Fleet fell on her massive bulk. It hadn’t even slowed the monstrous dreadnought. But one shot, one stray shot, had crippled Colorado’s heart, mortally wounding her.
          The casualties had been fairly light on the Tartaran side. On the Terran side they’d been nearly complete; within a hairsbreadth of the total annihilation. All their cruisers. Every filigreed battleship. Their entire landing force. Nearly all even of their escorts, with only three escaping back to Memphis to tell the tale. The HQ had been abuzz with incoming dispatches, couriers running with flimsies still warm from their printers, waveless sets chattering, clerks shouting and typing with glee. Until a single somber one, Inspector Nguyen, walked over to her; his expression grim and solemn in the midst of the celebration.

          “You might want to sit,” he’d said.
          He didn’t even need to continue. She collapsed onto the nearest bench in utter disbelief. Somehow, Colorado already knew what he would say: in the midst of a victory he’d worked so hard to engineer, Sir Stanley had been deprived of its vision, leaving Colorado bereft of any joy in it.

          Odd to take pleasure in so much death and destruction anyway. Surely the Terrans who had died had families too; lovers and children, mothers, fathers, friends who had enjoyed their warm smiles. Even zealots might be missed, she thought. Even xenophobes could feel pain; could suffer. She wanted to hate them, to feel nothing but bitterness towards them, to joy in their demise, especially now that they had ripped away half her own soul; her right hand and her faithful companion.
          But she couldn’t quite do it. And so she lay in her bed that day and most of the next, feeling dark and storm tossed.
          A quiet knock intruded, stirring her slightly before a head poked past the doorpost.
          “Colorado, there’s news from the front,” said the deep, musical voice of Christos Commodus, the Tartaran proconsul. Former proconsul, she corrected herself. She wasn’t quite sure what he’d be now that they were in open rebellion against Terra. A heretic, probably.
          “Can it wait?” she said.
          “Probably best if it doesn’t,” he replied. “No need to be fancified, but take a moment to compose yourself and I’ll have tea and cakes brought. You’ll feel better for it.”
          “Can you manage coffee?” she said.
          “For you.”
          “All right, give me a moment,” she said.
          He turned and quietly closed the door. Colorado rose and pulled a bathrobe off a chair back, but cast it aside in favor of the rumpled clothes she’d worn when she heard the news. She buttoned the top tightly, hoping it would choke off some of the pain, and stepped out.
          “All right, what is it,” she said.
          “Lucas has decided to give chase. He’s hoping he can intercept the stragglers before they can carry word back to Terra,” said Christos.
          “Does he hope to preserve some element of surprise?” she asked.
          “Maybe. He thinks he can head them off in the Memphian Sector. And unless their Waveless network is a lot better than we’d guess maybe we can limit the damage and forestall all-out war a little longer.”
          That cheered her up a bit.
          “Wasn’t there an old Earth story about lost legions in the Black Forest in the ancient pre-Imperial days?”
          “There was. A situation not completely dissimilar from our own. Word never made it back to the Emperor of one of their larger states; a Roman named Augustus. And he had enough troubles elsewhere he didn’t pursue the matter further, leaving the sweaty leather-bound barbarians to fend for themselves a while longer.”
          “I’m not that sweaty,” she said.
          Christos gave a sniff. “Yes, you are Colorado. You need a bath and a meal.” There was a knock at the door. “Sit. That’ll be the meal.”
          A page sat a steaming tray down on a small table with two chairs in her sitting room. The proconsul waved him off with a nod and then pulled out the chairs himself. Colorado took the one nearer her bed chamber door. Christos poured her a cup of coffee and then took the other.

          “Has he set off then?” she said.
          “Probably. He indicated that it was his aim to leave immediately, taking only the time to refuel, and reload.”

Colorado sipped gingerly. Her mouth was dry and unpleasant to her taste. The coffee would have been better if she’d taken the time to freshen up first, but maybe it would still give her the energy to face the terrible days ahead.
          “What’s the next step?” she asked.
          “I’ll need a new Secretary of War,” he said. “Do you think you would be up to the task? You knew Sir Stanley’s plans better than perhaps anyone else; better even than I, I think.”
          “Will the Diet approve?” she said. “I’ve never been a senator.”
          “You’re already a Councilor,” Christos replied. “I don’t think it will be a problem. I’ll make an interim appointment and put the nomination before the full Diet as soon as I’m back on Proserpine.” He paused, then added "It'll be easier now that Astride has brought Propraetor Angeline on board."

          Colorado sipped her coffee and ate a bit of the cake. "I was terrified she'd try to hand us over."

          "Her interests are too tied to the Rim. She's no fan of mine, but she's not going to accept Terran hegemony any more than you are," Christos said.

          They ate in silence for a few more minutes. Colorado rose first.

          "Thank you Chris," she said.

          "You're become quite dear to me, and you've lost a lot," he said. "It's the least I can do."

          "Just the same," she said and stopped. "Thank you," she added, walking out the door."

. . . . .

          Warmbier briefed the officers under his command in a voice grown hoarse from barking out orders over radios and waveless alike. There'd been damaged ships to send to dockyards, munitions to allocate and order. Fuel tenders needed tanking and cruisers didn't run on liquified deuterium alone. Nothing ever seemed quite done. But the men around him were to be the ferrets chasing the rat into it's tunnel lest a swarm of them come pouring out and tearing the fragile peace to shreds. What irony that such a new alliance would drag them into an existential war. But dame fortune always seemed to enjoy a farce.

          The squadrons were scheduled to depart before daybreak, barely more than a day after Kerberos. Most ships were still taking on missiles from the precious local stock, but a few could be spared that used more conventional beam weapons. For the escorts that had escaped the battle that should suffice. Admiral Bobson of the Tartarus Navy and Admiral Telvanni of Warmbier's own Burgkhan Kaldun service would each command detachments. Warmbier himself was aboard the cruiser BKN  Jaruud. 

          A short time later, aboard his new flagship, Warmbier listened to the familiar rhythms of a ship casting off into deep space. The bridge watch discussed navigation and reported transit conditions. Sensor techs in the CIC immediately aft of the command bridge warmed up their sets, concentrating first on passive arrays and waiting to test active arrays until they were a little distance from the station. Warmbier gazed fondly at the massive domes on Lachesis visible to port out the bridge windows. Those would come in handy.

          The chatter grew more formal, orders fewer, but quicker and crisper. They cast off their moorings and reaction thrusters carried them gently away from the docks. The main drive thrusters kicked in shortly after with a subtle hum that pulsed through the ship, pushing them towards the invisible point where they could warp into transit space. A klaxon buzzed as the transfer unit engaged and pulled the cruiser through the seams of spacetime into transit.

          To experienced spacers and grizzled veterans like Warmbier the shifting lights of transit space came almost as a welcome embrace. The chase was on.

. . . . .

          Aboard Piscivorus Lieutenant Commander Markus nearly wept at the sight of Barankus Station. The transit from Kerberos had been terrifying. He fought to keep it from his crew, but sleep deprivation and trauma were taking a toll on his sanity. Tendrils of unreality stretched from horizon to hull, from nowhere to everywhere. Each could conceal a heretic as warped as the strange transit dimension itself. At any moment the strange flashes might mutate into beams of energized particles to begin boiling his viewscreen into streams of plasma. Seeing the station, glittering in realspace when they warped back out he realized how much it meant to him that he'd be able to sleep behind the fortified walls; that he'd have one more day, one more opportunity to carry news of the xenophiles home.

          Someone had to inform His Sublime Majesty, the Emperor of Terra and all Space, the Defender of Humankind; that the Tartarans had some kind of dark sorcery. He had to learn that they had vaporized great galleons in moments; that they had autonomous kamikaze drones, probably from the cursed Tahti; energy beams of the greatest range and capacity apparently mounted in ordinary batteries; that their ships were fast and well built, and worst of all, piloted with skill. He would do it. He would carry the word.

          Incoming transmissions made it clear Inquisitor Augustus had come forward to Memphis awaiting word of the battle. Markus would tell him all that and more, carrying him to the safety of Holy Terra.

          Piscivorus docked and Augustus came aboard. Markus met him at the gangway and showed him to the captain's mess where the two could talk privately.

          "You were meant to return victorious. I gather from your numbers and the initial reports this is not the case. Why so few?" he said.

          "It was a trap, father," replied Markus. "We never had a chance."

          At that Markus related the tale of Kerberos, of the many headed guardian at the gate devouring the souls not of the sinners, but of the faithful.

          "Is there no word of Gaihomme or Castrian?" Augustus asked.

          "None, father," he said. "Legatus was disabled fairly early, and she was in the center. There was a lot of radio interference from mcironukes exploding everywhere."

          "Micronukes?"

          "The enemy appear to have suicide drones that track a ship and explode when they get close enough. Our energy shields couldn't handle that kind of punishment. They're optimized for the B class beam batteries everyone uses, so the drones just slipped past completely."

          "So they have new weapons, surpassing us technically?" Augustus said dourly.

          "Yes, father." Markus replied. And he related the rest of the battle in greater detail.

          The two made plans late into the night as the little flotilla refueled. In the morning they went aboard the station and briefed the local Memphian forces. They left instructions for the station and the gigs. The former was to destroy the fuel rather than surrender it to the heretics, the better to slow their pursuit. The latter were to do whatever possible to protect themselves and their families from the greenies and poncies; the frogs, rats, and mutants who were hell-bent on enslaving humanity. Augustus admonished them that it was far better to meet death with honor than to fall prisoner to such corrupt and degenerate souls as had taken over their neighbors to rimward.

          If there were a few skeptical glances from the back of the crowd Augustus didn't notice it. Markus watched as a few people left early. Not everyone looked completely enthusiastic about what was to come, but given what he'd seen he wouldn't rush to face it again either. These poor souls were stuck here with their families. For them there could be no flight. But Markus had to get Inquisitor Augustus back to earth to inform the Collegium. Somehow they had to spare enough from the Hexie front. After the victory Pomadorus had won maybe, just maybe they could. All too soon Markus and his brethren warped back out of Memphis, flying on the winds of luck and the scraps of a plan.

. . . . .

Please join us next time for The Sentinel Gate Affair: episode VIII: When Serpents Fly

For some crucial background information please read:

Jayne's Defense Weekly's: A Physical and Economic Description of the Memphis Sector Part I and II.

2024 in Review

 

2024 wasn't a banner year, by any means, but after the preceeding couple of years it wasn't too bad. I got some gaming in and I honestly did get a few miniatures painted. I didn't write about it until 2026, but who's counting?

The gaming was kind of the usual suspects: I played some games in my basement with Jay Bobson. I went to Jay's July Jamboree. But I don't know that I took a single picture of any of it. But you know what I did do? I built some models. I painted some miniatures. Some. Not tons, but some.

1. A rad little shack where you can buy electronic components. Don't ask too much about where they came from, but the prices can't be beat.

2. Another restaurant, though this one still needs a name and some signage.

And I made some progress on a good few other structures, that will in combination make a pretty decent urban market area, I think. The rest are pretty far from finished, so I'll save them for a future count, but it's a start. And hey, there's some set dressing to go with them. Some furniture. Some props. Neat stuff!

One reason I've been working so hard on market stalls is that I've got a neat set of market denizens from Colony '87 I've been working on.

3. The Tech Merchant

4. The Courier (An angsty kid in a band jacket. Note the MK for Mushrööm Klöwd.)

5. Animal Merchant

6. Pilot

7. Batrachian Official

8. and 9. Nanny Bot and Baby

10. A Walking Stump

11. A Bowser's Tortoise

12. Tribbowlets

13. A Bark Dragon

The final alien critter isn't from Colony 87, but from Paul Whitehorn's Krakon Games. It might have been a Kickstarter exclusive, as I'm not immediately finidng it on the site. (I'm guessing it's a Vent Dragon hatchling, but I'm really not sure. Pretty sure it's from Krakon, though.)

And last but not least . . .

14. An elf with a jackhammer

This last fellow was for the Oldhammer Forums miniature exchange, which is a sort of raffle where the price of entry is one miniature you paint and possibly convert.

It wasn't a great year, but honestly, that's not too bad for me lately. It's more than one a month, which I'll count as a win.

And may we all have good years going forward, filled with fun and friendship and the sorts of games we enjoy.

2023 in Review

 

2023 was another year short on blogging, but with at least some gaming and painting. Again, I'm going to use the Jan. 1 publication date to make this fit into the blog properly, even if in reality I wrote it on January 6, 2026.

It's another year short on miniatures, but not completely devoid of them. But there was a bit of gaming to make up for it, again mostly with Jay Bobson.

Probably the only miniatures I got finished were a fish shack, and a frog prince.

The Frog Prince was a part of the Lustrian Cutthroats crew that year. You can see him in the company of his merry band waving his sword about as he thinks about playing his lute.

2022 in Review

So . . . there was about a three year hole in this blog that you probably noticed. And yes, I'm presently filling that hole. So the dates on these are . . . incorrect. I actually didn't publish this until 2026. But I got things done in 2022, I just never wrote about them. Not much. But not nothing.

I think I may have painted one miniature that whole year: Face for the Legacy A-Team.

In the spirit of the Battlestar Galactica remake I recast Face with a Katee Sackhoff look alike. (Apologies to Dirk Benedict, I just happened to find a miniature that I thought worked better for a female Face. You're both cool. I swear.)

I also got some work done on the corridor set, though not as much as I would have liked.

And finally, I did manage to play a few games with friends; mostly Jay Bobson.

So it was a quiet year, but not a complete nothing.

And just because, here's the complete 2022 A Legacy Team:

Murdoch, as was typical, ran a bit late and had to catch up.

Only Face and the Tartarus Rim onlookers are my work. The rest are thanks to members of the Oldhammer Forums. :)

Buildings and Posters

 

          A while back I came into some old model railroad buildings. They're about the perfect size for 40K, but needed at least some paint and a little love. Here's the first results. There are still some issues, but . . . I think with appropriate set dressing they'll be fine. :) The first is a freight depot, which can serve as a small shack or warehouse on any remote world, I think. The paintjob was exceptionally quick and dirty. Basically, I washed everything with grimy black and then highlighted up a little with some drybrushing in different dirty colors. To the top of that I added some signs and posters from Ramshackle Curtis's latest patron special; a garage full of simian aliens.

          Next up was a quonset hut. It's hard to argue with a drain pipe building on a frontier world. I don't think you could ask for a building that gives a better sense of remote and temporary, but somewhat techy. Again, the paint was exceptionally quick and dirty. I painted the whole thing brown and then drybrushed silver on top. Glued on the signage and lightly drybrushed some dirt onto everything, especially the signs, to give them a slightly weathered look. (I think I might also have hit them with some brush cleaning water that I then wiped off to stain them a little.) I added some brown ink in a few places so suggest rust stains running down things a little. (Though not too much. I usually go for arid environments, and when it's dry things really don't rust as quickly.) 

Anyway, it's not perfect. They're snap together kits, and the gaps on the station are pretty brutal. I think I might go back and fill them. And of course there's no glass in the windows, but for a game that might be more feature than bug. (After all, you can't position a model to shoot through a window if you glue clear plastic into it.)

All in all, I think they're okay. More to come later. :)

The Sentinel Gate Affair, Episode VI: The Battle of Kerberos

 Continued from Episode V: A Friend in Need

          Gaihomme felt reassured when the fleet dropped out of warpspace and back into the comfortable reality of stars and moons, planets and people. The protector's ships surrounded him like an invulnerable cloak, stronger by far than his hard armor. He heard the chiming of several alarms and turned toward Captain Mickelson, listening as he called out to his crew. 

          "Hard to port and give me half thrust forward. The rebels are there at Kerberos, just as we expected."

Gaihomme glanced at the flimsy in his hand again:

Received 40.22.07.02 AIC

From Imperial Naval High Command, Terra

To the Lord Admiral of Imperial Armada 2406

Begin Transmission

You are instructed to escort the third company of 6th Marines to the Kerberos system, where they will commence with an assault on the orbital and ground military spaceport facilities of the planet pursuant to seizing same as a forward operating base for operation Justice Hailstorm. The company is to be embarked on four Serpens class galiots: Aspis, Fulvius, Crotalus, and Ophiophagus. For escort you will have six additional Serpens class galiots: Piscivorus, Contortrix, Polyepis, Oxyuranus, Bungarus, and Naja, two Comitatus class galleons: Dirk and Sacrificium, and four Furious class great galleons: Collegium, Magistratus, Legatus, and Praetor.

Kerberos is believed to be a significant operating base for the so-called Tartarus Rim Navy. As such, it is expected that you will encounter combatant warpships. You are ordered to engage and destroy any foreign military vessels you encounter. All are assumed to be either in open rebellion against the Terran Imperium or aiding such rebellion. You are further ordered to secure the nearspace areas in the system and to eliminate any such facilities as you find it necessary to ensure Imperial victory during the assault. In the event that you encounter an armada exceeding your own you are instructed to transit west towards Fort des Chartres if able. If you are unable to do either of these you are to fall back to the Memphian Sector and await reinforcements.

See attached catalog of assets, order forms, and star charts.

Endtrans

          Gaihomme glanced out the bridge window. Kerberos loomed giant before them, two of the three moons barely visible above it. Coming away from it at great speed were a few poncy ships and a half dozen stunties, one a massive galleon larger than any he had personally seen. But the Tartarus Rim's provincial ships were not visible. His own armada, six galleons and ten galiots strong, should more than suffice to deal with the issue. He eagerly awaited what would be yet another glorious victory for the forces of Holy Terra.

          "Action stations, everyone," said Mickelson casually. Almost immediately the klaxon began to sound and able spacers ran around the ship closing hatches and donning helmets.

. . . . . . .

          On the opposite side of the field Sir Stanley looked out nervously from the Burkhan Kaldun flagship's bridge. In command, and seated in the captain's chair, was Progenitor Lucas Warmbier.

          "What do you make of our chances, Lucas?" he asked.

          "Mm? Oh, excellent, I'd say. The Impies won't know what hit 'em," Warmbier replied with an almost casual lilt to his voice.

          Sir Stanley was a little surprised at his certainty. "How do you figure?"

          "Well, we checked them out in a joint exercise on Thalia a while back. We've been doing quite a lot of that lately, just to check our records and update anything that's gotten out of date." At that Lucas paused a moment. 

          He took a pull on his pipe and continued. "It seems they've stagnated pretty badly back on mother earth, as they've gotten more religious about all this nonsense. They seem to have decided a ship should be handled a certain way, or a suit of armor. They think it's their god's word, or maybe a declaration from the Emperor. One or the other. Not that they necessarily recognize a difference there, what with their inquisitors and priests and warrior monks and so on."

          Stanley nodded along at that. "I hope you're right. You're confident we can hold out until the TRN arrives?"

          "My boy, we don't even need them. It'll be quicker and less bloody with them, so I'm glad they're coming, but trust me, we can take this bunch all by ourselves. They'd be hard pressed to beat even just the Tahti if we were still off at Burkhan Kaldun."

          At that Sir Stanley was genuinely surprised. The Tahti force numbered only four ships. They were capable, but . . . four against sixteen? My word! Warmbier really was confident.

          "Ensign, sound general quarters," said Warmbier, standing and turning to Sir Stanley. "I think it's time we donned our vac-suits Stanley. When this all over and we can breathe again properly I'll share a pint with you.

          Stanley nodded and walked to the locker in Warmbier's day cabin as the bosun piped and the horn began to sound. That was an order he could agree with. "Nothing like a cold pint with Warmbier!" he chuckled to himself.

. . . . . . .

          For a time, the two fleets closed on each other silently. And then, just as the dwarves and elves were almost within firing range of the Terrans a Tartarus Rim force dropped out of warp and began closing quickly.

          "Blast! That will complicate things," Gaihomme cursed.

          "We're picking up two to four galleons and a number of escorts," piped up a junior officer buried behind a viewscreen of some kind.

          "That does away with our advantage in numbers. Maybe even puts us on the back foot," Gaihomme observed.

          "We should be able to beat them with quality if quantity won't suffice," Captain Mickelson said. "A bunch of untrained provincials and conscripts. Probably half of them are criminals serving out their time."

          Just then the shields began to flare, even before Mickelson gave the order to fire.

          "Why on earth aren't we firing yet when they are?" Gaihomme demanded.

          "They're not in range! How on earth can they target us this far out?"

          A few seconds later Mickelson gave the order to return fire, but the damage was done. The bridge was in a state of silent shock, only broken when the great galleon off their starboard bow began to vent explosively into space.

          "We've lost Collegium sir! And we're picking up a host of small contacts. It looks like they have fighters. Coming from the largest Tartarus galleon, a pair of smaller galleons on our right, and several small escorts on the left."

          "Escorts?" Mickelson asked incredulously.

          "Yes sir. And closing fast. They have at least 9TG acceleration."

          "Sustained?"

          "Yes sir."

          "How would the pilots survive . . . "

          He didn't have time to finish the question, as the "fighters" began exploding around them. Legatus was one of the first ships to lose power as the hail of splinters began cutting through cable trunks and spacers alike.

          "Abandon ship!" the captain screamed, before leaping from his chair and dashing down the hatchway to the nearest boat bay. Gaihomme and the poor ensign who'd been calling out all the dreadful news followed quickly after.

          No sooner had the ensign cleared the hatchway from the bridge than it disappeared into a wall of plasma, venting from some broken line or other. Explosions rocked the ship. They might say that it was cold and silent in space, but war remained a hot and noisy affair, even if your screams would never reach enemy ears. He sincerely hoped brother Castrian fared better.

          It was a false hope. Aspis was struck in the same hail of missiles that finished Legatus.

          Even though Castrian himself escaped, nearly a third of her crew and passengers were consumed by the flames and splinters radiating out from a dozen explosions, both from the missiles and from Aspis tearing herself apart. Of the great armada, only three galiots returned: Piscivorus, Bungarus, and Naja. Of the third company of the famed Sixth Marines, none could seek the solitude of their fortress monastery. Castrian himself, and the bulk of his compatriots, were eventually rescued, even if it was only to be questioned by the lords of Tartarus and sent to await their eventual fait on Erebus.

. . . . . . .

Behind the Curtain

          This was, of course, a game. Several of my friends have been so kind as to run the factions, and several more willing victims helped to push miniatures around for the battle. Much has been left to chance. The resources of the Terran Imperium are vast, but her commitments are many, so luck plays the part of the fickle lords doling out warships in penny packets. Though you are permitted to count the cards battle is always a gamble. Even the best laid plans must face Dame Fortuna. The Tartarans are better prepared, but there is always wind and weather, even in space. And you just never quite know what the other player will do.

          The first bit of luck was when the Tartarans arrived. They'd started four sectors away from the zone of engagement, but the Imperial fleet was sighted two sectors away, and the Tartarans know the territory and fly fast, so they were able to cover the ground in approximately the same time. The Terrans arrived first, but only by d6 turns. The . . . let's call it the Rim Alliance . .. since they were defending they started at the line of the planet. The Terrans were entering from the galactic south (or coreward in this case), which is to the right on the board. The defenders placed first and the Terrans placed in response to that. As a result, the allies decided to reshuffle their force on the fly. The rules of the game were a lightly modified version of Full Thrust. The usual order of things is writing commands for your ships and then moving according to them. Once everyone has moved, the fun begins. Fire is considered simultaneous, but for ease of play you fire in alternation, with the larger fleet going first. Damage doesn't really occur until after everyone has fired, but I didn't ask players to declare targets in advance or anything quite that fancy. At the end of a turn damaged ships might attempt repair. (And if they've dwarves aboard they might be pretty good at it.) The first turn, which you see below, was pretty quiet. Nobody had the range to shoot.

          

          As it happens, the Tartarans rolled a one on that d6, so they arrived on the second turn. And they were allowed to move as quickly as they wanted, so they absolutely booked. (And then immediately hit the brakes.) The Imperials simply marched forward steadily. And after all the moving was done . . . things were in engagement range.

          The allies basically concentrated their fire on the leading Terran battleships (or great galleons). After the first one exploded the elves switched targets to a destroyer, but there weren't too many guns left so it survived the exchange. The Terrans were still at pretty extreme range for their weapons and they were unable to do much.

          On turn three things got more . . . interesting. The allies launched . . . let's call them "contacts." The rule of thumb here is you plot your orders, but before moving you move these "contacts" quite quickly and according to specific rules, which movement you see below.

          Once that's done you move your ships according to their orders.

          After that's complete the "contacts" do their thing, which is attack. At this point they're NPCs (non-player contacts), attacking whatever target in front of them is closest. Which if you play your cards right is the other guy. And oh, but it was.

          One battleship miraculously survived the onslaught, but two battleships, a cruiser, and four destroyers did not. And since this happens BEFORE the firing phase, those ships don't even get to shoot back. (They can and did engage the contacts, but . . . not effectively.) With the target selection greatly reduced the allies concentrated fire on what was left, thus eliminating the last two battleships, the cruiser, and another destroyer. The Terrans returned fire, of course, but at this point they were horribly outnumbered, so it wasn't very effective.

          Quite reasonably, the Terrans attempted to retreat to the relative safety of warp space. The three destroyers on their left were able to break away. (They're surprisingly fast little snakies.) But the other two were surrounded and quite thoroughly cut off. They did their best, but there was nothing left to it but to be forcibly ventilated directly to space.

          The three snakes as made it off the table took word back to Inquisitor Augustus, but the rest of the Terran fleet became scrap for the Tartarans to collect. And their occupants, if not in pieces, will find themselves interrogated and shipped off to a POW camp.(It could be worse. I doubt the Terran zealots would be so friendly.) And I, your humble game-master, have rolled up the results, who was killed and who captured. What can be salvaged, and so on. The Imperium will doubtless send more ships. Likely many more after this debacle. We shall see where the fighting leads us next.

         And that, as they say, is that. Thank you for joining me on this little adventure. Stay tuned. The war isn't over. Just the first battle. Many more will doubtless follow. Hopefully fairly quickly.

          Sincerely,

          The Composer

Continued (at long last) in Episode VII: Memphis Blues