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SCL Chapter 136: In Fire and Steel, We Rise
🕑 Added 2025-07-01 04:35:08 +0000 UTCBelow the Norad II, the Revolutionary Army forces were locked in combat with hastily assembled defenders across the docks.
Only one-third of Augustus’s elite troops were equipped with powered armor. Even though their adversaries were merely Dominion fleet recruits still undergoing training in the shipyards, the battle was grotesquely bloody.
Spine rounds and hollow-point bullets, electromagnetically accelerated to several times the speed of sound, turned the battlefield into a slaughterhouse—flesh torn apart, organs spilled across the steel deck.
Every few minutes, a squadron—or several—of Dominion Wraiths surged out from the tunnels crisscrossing the entire orbital shipyard, some accompanied by larger destroyers and interceptors.
Explosions erupted everywhere. The roar of autocannons and electromagnetic rifles echoed nonstop. The Norad II’s optical and sensor systems locked onto one dormant Behemoth-class battlecruiser after another, as well as massive troop transports resting in drydock. These unfinished warships either collapsed inward or detonated in chain reactions, reduced to mangled wreckage and molten metal.
It was clear the Dominion Navy would face astronomical costs just to attempt repairs—if repairs were even possible.
The battle dragged on. At 15:36 standard time, a Behemoth-class battlecruiser finally broke through the Revolutionist fighter screen and warped into Dock A, where the Norad II was stationed.
The two warships immediately opened fire, trading volleys as overlapping barrages filled the void. But for now, neither side could gain the upper hand—their laser batteries incapable of piercing the enemy’s armor in such a short span. In this era, before the Yamato Cannon had been deployed fleet-wide, a clash between battlecruisers rarely ended in a single decisive blow.
“Strike teams, Tychus—report your positions immediately,” Augustus commanded over the ground force comms. “Get those warships airborne as soon as possible.”
“This is Styrling Strikers Team One,” reported Corporal Faraday. “We’re advancing toward the bridge and central command center of a Behemoth-class cruiser. So far, we’ve encountered no resistance.”
“As per orders, we haven’t opened fire on any of the shipyard workers.”
“Excellent,” Augustus replied, clearly satisfied with Faraday’s efficiency. Though he knew the Dominion would inevitably paint the rebels as bloodthirsty butchers, the Revolution was never meant to be a terrorist movement.
“I just kicked the crap out of this scrap heap—it’s about to move!” Tychus growled over the comms. “Come on, you worthless bucket of bolts, get moving!”
Augustus could hear the metallic thuds echoing through Tychus’s transmission. He could easily imagine the man furiously hammering the control panel with his boot while frantically working the interface.
Tychus wasn’t some brainless brute. In truth, he was remarkably sharp. Piloting mechs and ships came naturally to him. After undergoing formal training, Tychus could even take the Hyperion for a spin if he felt like it.
As the battlecruiser under Tychus’s control lifted off—wobbling but gaining altitude with unstoppable momentum—Augustus clearly heard Mr. Findlay’s triumphant, manic laughter burst through the channel.
“Ha-ha! Ol’ Tychus is driving the big boys now!”
Moments later, two more Behemoth-class battlecruisers slowly rose from the drydock, and at last, a faint smile crept onto Augustus’s face. Their armor plating had only just been installed; some still bore numerical assembly tags. No paint. No insignias. Just the cold gray sheen of raw steel alloy.
Soon after, reports of success came flooding in from Raynor and Warfield.
Warfield had drawn the short straw—his dock only contained two Behemoth-class cruisers. But his team had uncovered nine partially dismantled Leviathan-class battlecruisers and managed to get seven of them airborne.
As usual, Raynor’s luck held. He secured eight Behemoth-class cruisers and—while at it—made off with over a hundred Wraith fighters sitting idle in the hangars.
With the battlecruisers secured, the issue of crew shortages was also resolved. The batch of fresh recruits Augustus had conscripted from Deadman's Port was finally put to use. Across four waves of recruitment, nearly 80,000 physically fit soldiers had been enlisted.
All of them had been cleared by Kerrigan—none were spies for the Terran Confederacy. Beyond that, anyone with a known criminal record or sociopathic tendencies had been eliminated from the pool. The ones who remained might not have possessed the highest revolutionary zeal, but they were more than eager to strike back at the Confederacy.
“Notify the fleet,” Augustus ordered once all the battlecruisers were airborne. “Break contact with your pursuers and jump to the coordinates transmitted by the Norad II.”
At that moment, an unusual surge of unidentified warp signatures appeared across the Dylar system. Within barely two hours, the Confederate Navy had already begun to respond. The Dylarian Shipyards were not far from the border zone where the Terran Confederacy and the Kel-Morian Combine stood in tense opposition. Patrol fleets stationed in the outer rim could jump in at any moment.
If that hadn’t been the case, Augustus would have done everything in his power to hold the shipyard for as long as possible—rather than seize it and run.
At this moment, the Norad II was still pinned down, locked in a skirmish with a Confederate battlecruiser that refused to disengage. The one who broke the stalemate was Tychus. Arriving alongside another battlecruiser, he forced the enemy vessel into retreat.
Suddenly, the comms were cut through with static as distress signals from the ground forces broke into the Norad II’s bridge.
“This is Squad Seven calling Norad II. Our transport’s been shot down!”
“Squad Four requesting immediate backup! We’re pinned down!”
“We have wounded here—seriously wounded! Please, someone, anyone—help him!”
Augustus’s adjutant and Umojan military advisor turned toward him in unison, awaiting his command.
The Revolution had deployed fifteen strike teams to the Dylarian Shipyards, each made up of around 120 personnel—pilots, engineers, and escort soldiers. Their mission: seize the battlecruisers and bring their systems online with the bare minimum required for operation.
But reality had been harsher. Several squads were ambushed the moment they landed. Only a handful managed to accomplish their objectives. Hundreds of Revolution soldiers were now stranded on the surface.
And every extra minute spent in the shipyard increased the risk of Confederate encirclement. The captured Behemoth-class battlecruisers were still in minimal fighting condition. Engaging the Confederate fleet directly would place them at a severe disadvantage.
“Get me the locations of all squads—immediately!”
“This is the Norad II bridge. Cancel that jump order.” Augustus made the decision in the span of a breath. “Dispatch fresh transports. Deploy all our Banshees and Wraiths to cover the evac. Make sure every last soldier gets out safely.”
“We will not abandon a single one of our own!” Augustus’s voice rang through the bridge.
The words commanded respect from every officer and soldier of the Revolution—but they did not come as a surprise.
Because none of them had ever believed that the man they followed would leave loyal comrades behind.
…
Augustus waited until around 17:00 standard time to confirm that every Revolutionary soldier still awaiting extraction had made it aboard. As the Norad II and the remaining warships exited the Dylarian Shipyards, the fleets under Warfield and Raynor had already jumped out of the Dylar system on Augustus’s earlier orders.
Emerging from the tunnel, Augustus was met with a field of brilliant starlight—and a fully deployed Confederate fleet. But the enemy force consisted of only three battlecruisers. Their commanding officer, clearly outmatched by Augustus’s seven warships, lacked the resolve to engage and held position at a distance.
Behind the Norad II, flames surged from the tunnel entrance—a reflection of the inferno consuming the shipyard.
“Ignore them,” Augustus said flatly. “Return fire. Execute the jump sequence.”
A Confederate Wraith came diving toward the Norad II’s bridge, only to be shredded midair by a streak of laser fire. More than a dozen Wraiths circled the former Alpha Squadron flagship, dodging the rotating turrets locked onto them.
The brave pilots danced around the massive warship in their lightly armored craft, evading blazing laser blasts while releasing volley after volley of anti-air missiles from their launch bays.
The barrage from the Wraiths rattled the Norad II’s defensive matrix slightly, but caused no meaningful damage.
Without acknowledging the Confederate fleet’s offensive, Augustus’s forces began jumping into hyperspace.
He stood with hands clasped behind his back, as if the violent battle raging outside the viewport had nothing to do with him.
“Any word from Korhal?”
“Korhal IV is silent.”
After a brief pause, Augustus spoke again.
“We must prepare for a prolonged war. The pain of the Federation and the people of Korhal will be felt in every order we deliver to the enemy’s commanders.”
A shared fire of grief and rage burned in everyone’s heart. They were not telepaths, yet they understood one another completely.
“Korhal and the Confederate government both made their share of mistakes,” Augustus continued. “No revolution is ever perfect or instantaneous. The people of Korhal have lost everything… but it was the Confederacy that forged our shared ideal with its own hands.”
“This war is just beginning. The Terran Confederacy will never know peace again. The Confederate Congress and the Old Families destroyed Korhal IV—yet in doing so, they created a legion of Avengers.”
“What’s our next move?” his adjutant asked. “If we return to Korhal now, maybe we could still—”
“No!”
“We’re going to Tarsonis,” Augustus declared without hesitation. “The new recruits will train aboard the warships we just claimed. I don’t expect them to become elite soldiers. I only expect them to pull the trigger when I give the order.”
The fighting raged on. At 18:23, the last Behemoth-class battlecruiser completed its jump, leaving the Dylarian Shipyards behind—engulfed in a sea of fire.
