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SCL Chapter 139: Tychus Time
🕑 Added 2025-07-04 04:35:29 +0000 UTCAnother channel clicked open. The signal originated from two Leviathan-class battlecruisers patrolling a fixed route between the outer rim a
Another channel clicked open. The signal originated from two Leviathan-class battlecruisers patrolling a fixed route between the outer rim and the core of the Tarsonis system. These two Leviathans, old and outdated, lagged far behind the modern Behemoth-class cruisers of Augustus’s fleet. His tech crew had already broken the encryption used in their communications.
“Damn it, rebels everywhere. It’s like we’re cursed,” one Federation captain muttered. “But where the hell is our fleet?”
“Block them. Don’t let those Korhal dogs do whatever they want in the Tarsonis system. They should crawl back to whatever backwater hellhole they came from.”
Then silence. The comms between the two Leviathans cut off again—likely because the onboard AI systems had auto-switched encryption keys according to preset protocols. It would take Augustus’s codebreakers some time to crack the new cipher.
“We haven’t intercepted any distress calls from Tarsonis to other fleets?”
“None, sir,” replied a technician. “So far, we’ve detected no such encrypted signals. The constantly changing cipher keys are buried among millions of lines of code... but it’s also possible we missed one.”
“There’s no way we missed anything,” Augustus said coldly. “If the Federation Senate were truly panicking, they’d be flooding the channels with calls for help. Keep monitoring every Tarsonis transmission—don’t miss a single message that might alter the course of this war.”
He listened to a few more intercepted transmissions from Tarsonis system outposts and orbital residential platforms. It quickly became clear: the Federation Senate had not anticipated the Revolutionary Fleet would head straight for Tarsonis right after the strike on the Dylarian Shipyards.
But any Federation general with a shred of clarity—or even the faintest trace of strategic foresight—should have realized it. The Tarsonis system lacked both natural barriers and any real defense. The glaring vulnerability stood out on any star map like a gaping wound.
The intercepted transmissions from Tarsonis’s orbital defense forces, space stations, and defense platforms revealed utter chaos within the Confederacy’s military ranks. Thousands of off-network signals—coming from units outside the formal army and navy command structures—were flooding the Confederacy Naval Command, all desperately asking what the hell was going on. Meanwhile, bewildered admirals were being mercilessly berated by aristocrats from various families and branches of power.
“Andrea Tygore and her Senate sure know how to play it cool,” Augustus muttered. “She has to know by now that Tarsonis doesn’t even have a marshal capable of leading the whole defense—unless they drag some half-retired fossil out of the shadows.” Shaking his head, he shut down all monitoring channels but ordered the intercept team to continue listening and immediately report any critical updates.
By now, the Revolutionary Fleet led by the Norad II had closed in significantly on the Tarsonis core world. The bridge radar display registered a group of nine Confederacy battlecruisers up ahead—this was the Confederacy’s defensive line. At a distance of roughly 16 kilometers, missiles and space torpedoes launched first, cutting across the void. Swarms of laser beams followed, forming dense, searing barrages in the dark of space.
It was clear this was nearly everything the Confederacy could throw together on short notice. Even Leviathan-class battlecruisers—many of which should’ve been scrapped, melted down, displayed in museums, or left to gather dust in Naval Academy docks—had been dragged out and pressed into service.
Leading the defense was the Hurt, a once-legendary Leviathan-class battlecruiser. It had earned its fame by destroying two Kel-Morian battlecruisers and a strike carrier.
However, after suffering heavy damage twice, the Hurt had been sent back to the Bennett Orbital Shipyards above Tarsonis for extensive repairs. Following the end of the Guild Wars, the mass deployment of Behemoth-class cruisers, and multiple waves of naval upgrades, the once-feared warship had become obsolete.
Now, the Revolutionary Fleet and the Confederacy fleet exchanged fire as they surged toward each other. Between the converging waves of cannon fire and laser storms darted countless starfighters, weaving in and out of the chaos. New squadrons of Confederacy fighters launched from orbiting shipyards, while more Revolutionary warships burst forth from hyperspace lanes and joined the fray.
What unfolded before Augustus was a scene of grandeur and ferocity—true fleet-to-fleet warfare. Shells and laser beams exploded across armored hulls in blinding flashes. Every fighter that went up in flames lit the Norad II’s main screen like a brief-lived supernova.
And then, in a moment of brilliant, blinding light, the Confederacy flagship Hurt took a focused volley from the Revolutionary Fleet.
This warship—once the terror of Kel-Morian border colonies, the bringer of nightmares—now burned in a pillar of flame. In just a few seconds, it was engulfed in white-hot brilliance, lighting up the entire Norad II bridge… before it disintegrated into tens of thousands of jagged steel fragments.
Between 1,000 and 2,500 soldiers of the Confederacy fleet perished in an instant—consumed by flame and torn apart, their deaths not swift enough to spare them the pain.
On the fourteenth minute of engagement, the two fleets finally collided. Outer warships and fighters overlapped in a tangled mess, and with each thunderous explosion of a battlecruiser came dazzling flashes of light and surging blue electric pulses.
After the fourth Confederacy battlecruiser was blown out of the battle, the intercept team aboard the Norad II finally tapped into a long-awaited Tier-3 encrypted communication channel.
“This is Benson Tygore, Chief Speaker of the Confederacy Senate. Tarsonis is under attack by rebel forces. Our defensive fleet is taking losses. By the authority of Senate Protocol 099, and on behalf of the Senate and the people it represents, I order the following: All fleets, return to Tarsonis immediately!”
“Well done, Speaker Benson,” Augustus said with a grin. Many on the bridge could hear the clear satisfaction in his laughter.
“Korhal IV is saved,” Kerrigan said with a faint smile, her eyes fixed on Augustus. Though she had little faith that Korhal IV could have held out for much longer, even this late arrival came as a relief.
“We’re not done yet.” Augustus tugged down the brim of his wide military hat, his expression now more villain than revolutionary leader. “Not even close, Andrea Tygore.”
“Their commanders never told them the Dylarian Shipyards had been hit. That we stole a massive number of their ships.” His smile faded. “Someone suppressed the news—but the Senate must already know what happened in the Dylar system.”
“But they have no idea where we’re going next.” He turned to gaze out the viewport into the glittering starlight. “No one dares to predict which star system the rebel fleet will strike. Maybe someone suspected we’d hit Tarsonis—but they didn’t make sure the people of Tarsonis were ready for war.”
“Whether or not anyone argued for stronger defenses here, if the Confederacy is now scrambling to recall its fleets across the Koprulu Sector to reinforce its home systems, then that’s exactly the outcome we wanted. And if they still haven’t figured it out... then I’ll burn Tarsonis to the ground.”
“I can’t wait any longer, Mengsk.” The figure of Tychus Findlay appeared on one of the main bridge screens, clad in powered armor, flanked by rows of fully armed Revolutionary troopers.
“Tychus is ready to make his entrance. And those Tarsonis bastards better start running for their lives.”
“Don’t lose your head,” Augustus snapped. “Do you remember what the orders are?”
“Landing,” Tychus replied. “But dropping troops while Tarsonis’s three orbital platforms and ground-to-orbit flak networks are still operational? That’s suicide. Maybe—maybe—20 to 30 percent of our forces would make it to the surface.”
“That’s the mission,” Augustus said firmly. “We’re going to show the people of Tarsonis that the Revolution has arrived at their doorstep.” Tychus, unfazed by his own grim assessment, didn’t flinch. “That’s how you make the nobles and bureaucrats desperate enough to beg for reinforcements.”
“Our targets are the military installations and scientific research stations in Tarsonis City,” he continued. “We’ll seize any Confederate weapons schematics we can get our hands on. Beyond that, we’ll cripple every starport and maglev rail we find on the surface. Make it impossible for the Confederacy to deploy reinforcements quickly.”
“And if the opportunity presents itself, we’ll nab ourselves a few noble ladies while we’re at it.”
“That last part better not have come from me,” Augustus turned, eyes locking on Tychus. “As long as no civilians get hurt, I won’t stop you. But no one moves without my order. Is that clear?”
“You didn’t say it,” Tychus said, lighting a cigar. “But if I were you, I’d have thought it.”
“Those nobles... probably never got a good spanking from Daddy Tychus when they were kids,” he added with a grin, crunching the cigar between his teeth as he sealed his helmet shut.
“Let Tarsonis burn.”
