Celta, Jewel of the Europa Federation

Celta, Orbital Surveillance Command, AE Day 18:57 Local

The room was quiet, but not in a focused way. The long sweep of the primary sensor array cast a dim green glow over the tired faces of the three technicians on duty. A fourth, the watch commander, sat with his boots on a cabinet and a cup of black coffee perched dangerously on his chest. After all Exodus Day was a national holiday. Most of the senior staff were planet-side, attending ceremonies or entertaining guests. Surveillance Command had been left to the skeleton crew, junior officers, support contractors, and one lieutenant who'd failed upwards into obscurity.

 

"There it is again," said Analyst Riva, frowning at her console. "Another FTL jump flash, way out beyond the edge of the outer ring." Her supervisor, Lieutenant Charn, didn’t even look up from the News Channel. “Miner traffic. Probably just old nav buoys confusing the return. That sector’s half blind.”

“It’s the third one in twenty minutes.”

Charn sipped his coffee. “Then it’s three confused miners. You want to kick this up the chain on AE Day?”

Riva hesitated. Her screen showed a faint but distinct spike, an energy signature that certainly resembled a warship's FTL exit signature to her. The manual she was reading seemed to agree with her. Not proof, not actionable, but worrying. She was new to her position, however, so what did she really know?

A nearby contractor leaned over. “Want me to run it through the composite array?”

Charn waved him off. “Not worth the time. If something was out there, someone in the fleet would have told us by now. Just relax, let's get back to the parade recordings. The Navy did us proud today, our parade was by far the largest, even bigger than the army’s.”

Riva glanced once more at the screen before closing the alert. “If they are all marching then, who is manning the surveillance on our ships?” she muttered.

Half a system away, the fourth FTL jump was completed. Then the fifth.

None of them were miners.

​

 

Outer Celta System, Rodina Flagship RN Vityaz, AE Day 19:15 Local

Admiral Galina Serova stood motionless before the command table, studying the rotating three-dimensional map of the Celta system. One hand rested behind her back; the other tapped rhythmically against her leg. The projection showed orbital stations, planetary infrastructure, patrol paths, and known fleet dispositions.

None of it impressed her.

“Final reports confirm it, Admiral,” said her chief of staff. “Their defense net is operating in peacetime mode. No fleet mobilization, no elevated alert status. Ground installations are also still on a peacetime footing.”

“Disgraceful,” Serova said, her voice like tempered steel. “They would have been executed in the Rodina for such laxness.”

She turned toward her operations officer. “Are all squadrons aligned with their jump vectors?”

“Confirmed. All wings have checked in. Final positioning completed ninety seconds ago.”

Serova gave a curt nod. “And our communications discipline?”

“No transmissions detected. The fleet remains on silent running.”

She walked slowly around the projection. “Then let’s proceed. Fleet-wide directive: Engage full-spectrum jump. Entry point Celta orbit, all combat ships initiate stage three dispersal to pre-planned jump coordinates, capital ships to anchor the center of the formation, forming up on the Vityaz. Escorts fan out. No independent action until fire-control locks confirmed.”

A pause. Then her gaze swept the table. “Remind all Captains. No one fires until I give the order.”

Her staff exchanged tense glances but nodded.

She stepped forward and pressed her palm to the authorization plate.

“Operation Molotok is in motion. Initiate jump.”

The flagship Vityaz shuddered as its drives lit. Across the silent dark, dozens of warships, silent, cold, and waiting, blinked out of existence.

Heading straight for Celta.

​

 

Celta Defense Fleet, AE Day 21:57 Local

It began with half a dozen warnings sounding at once.

Across orbiting cruisers, defense platforms, and outlying patrol ships, proximity alarms screamed to life. For a moment, no one reacted; some were drunk, others asleep, and many assumed it was a drill or a malfunction.

But then the fleet tracking systems updated. Forty-seven Rodinan warships, destroyers, frigates, cruisers, and heavy assault carriers appeared inside the defense perimeter.

On the bridge of the CNS Boyne, a junior comms officer vomited into a wastebasket. The executive officer screamed for the drive and weapons to be powered up immediately, but the only problem was that there wasn’t enough crew on board to actually perform both tasks at once. Across the command deck, panicked crew scrambled to stations, shouting over each other, tripping over chairs.

All the senior Captains had been ordered down to the planet to attend the Navy Parade. It was a case of every man and ship for himself

It was the same across the whole of the Celta system.

The CNS Antrim, Celta’s most modern destroyer, managed to pivot and bring its targeting systems online in time to register three Rodinan vessels, and then vanished in a flash of plasma fire. No distress call. No debris.

At Fleet HQ, it was chaos; no orders came or were sent.

Admiral Bryn Hargrave, commander of the planetary defense forces, was nowhere to be found. Supposedly reachable at all times, his emergency beacon was inactive. Rumors would later suggest that he had attempted to escape the planet on a private shuttle with his mistress.

In the absence of leadership, chaos reigned. Some captains tried to coordinate a counteroffensive. Others broke formation and ran for deep space. The orbital network collapsed as command nodes were destroyed one by one.

Within thirty-seven minutes of contact, Celta’s fleet no longer existed as any sort of substantive force.

The battle was over almost before it began.

​

 

 

Celta, Upper Atmosphere and Planet Surface, AE Day 23:16 Local

The Rodinan fleet fanned out in orbit, engines glowing red as formations shifted. Capital ships dropped into firing position. The order came without ceremony.

“Begin planetary bombardment.”

Lances of light cut through the upper atmosphere. Kinetic penetrators followed, streaking downward in tight arcs. Defensive batteries on the surface blinked to life, but they were too few and too late.

In Dublin Nua, the capital of the planet, AE Day celebrations were still underway. Fireworks exploded over government buildings. Music echoed from rooftop speakers. Onlookers mistook the first explosions for part of the show until buildings crumbled, sirens wailed, and the power grid failed in cascading surges.

Hospitals lost power. Transit systems shut down mid-cycle. Many citizens were trapped in trains from which they never exited. Entire districts fell silent, then began to burn.

Military barracks across the planet scrambled to respond. Reserve troops fought their way through panicked streets, trying to reach weapons lockers or report to muster points. Traffic gridlock, communications failures, and sheer confusion bogged them down.

In orbit, escape pods launched blindly. A few lucky ships managed to jump out, scattered survivors, some of whom would later regroup in Britanica space.

And in the northern highlands, a family watched the sky from their cottage. Four generations had lived on that land. Grandparents stood with their daughter-in-law and granddaughter. They stood outside, confused, then terrified, as bright lights stitched across the stars.

Then the mountain shook.

The cottage and those within it were gone before anyone could scream.

Commander Elira Nash fought to stay composed as conflicting reports screamed through her comms panel. Her fingers danced across controls, locking in emergency protocols she’d hoped she’d never use. The outer defense net was collapsing faster than expected, and even the local orbital sensor drones were going blind. It wasn’t just an attack; it was a rout.

​

RN Vityaz, Command Bridge, AE Day 23:45 Local

“Fleet reports confirm orbital superiority,” Captain Vehlik said, stepping briskly onto the command dais. “Enemy assets have ceased all coherent defense. No further launch attempts detected. Space around Celta is ours.”

Fleet Admiral Serova nodded slowly, eyes still locked on the shattered telemetry of Celta’s orbital lanes. “Very good.”

Vehlik allowed himself a rare smile. “Congratulations, Admiral. Textbook execution.”

She didn’t return the smile. “Begin wave two. I want the troop carriers and support barges cleared to enter the system immediately. Assign orbital bombardments to secondary target locations.”

“Confirmed. Shall I issue a full landing protocol?”

“Yes. I want boots on the ground ASAP. Civilian zones are to be sealed. Any armed resistance is to be extinguished. Crushed.” Her voice remained calm, almost indifferent. “We pacify now, swiftly, completely, and without mercy. Never give an enemy time to regroup, Vehlik, that way they don’t come back to bite you.”

Above the ruined planet, the stars shifted slightly as new blips appeared along the edge of the system, huge container ships. The first of many. They came not loaded with weapons or supplies, but with Reclaimer Drones and Dismantlers, Automated Strip-Mining Crawlers, and massive automated harvesters. Celta’s wealth now belonged to the Rodina.