By Matt Ahlschwede

"The law is the finest of lines.  Every man in the galaxy falls either above or below it." - Potus Clarke, Emperor

Another boring watch, or at least that's what I thought, as the minutes ticked down to the moment I could retire from the bridge.  "Angel of Fire" was a fine picket ship, and I had been chosen to be watch officer at the last Election.  We were doing a routine blockade of the rebel-held planet of Albion 4, and had been holding the line for a number of months now. Other ships had commenced a light bombardment to soften up the rebels in the hopes of getting the go ahead for an invasion force to end the matter.  The Holy Empire of Man rewarded loyal men, and I was on my way up the ranks, or so I thought.

What I thought became a lot less relevant when the bogies showed up.  

"Four ahead!" shouted the S&S officer.  "Main Screen." I ordered, suddenly wishing I hadn't, "By the Emperor, are those A-550s?!"

The A-550 Thunderhawk was a fearsome attack craft with a very distinct sensor profile.  They were relics from the day of the Planetary League.  Apparently the Great Reckoning hadn't wiped them all out, and now three of them were attacking our position, leading another craft, probably loaded with supplies or reinforcements for the rebels below.  

"Defcon Alpha, deflectors at maximum.", I commanded as the alarm sounded. Drones were launched, and I had the gunners concentrate fire on the lead ship.  The voice of the captain crackled in my ear: "What is the situation, commander?"  A bit shocked, I said,"Sir, we are under attack by what appears to be three A-550s and a blockade runner.  We are aggressively defending the faith of all mankind."  Then the captain said,"I'm on my way to the bridge, don't let them through."

Just then the whole ship jolted as the shock-wave of an explosion ripped through the hull.  The lights went out, power systems across the ship failed, and the air choked with the acrid smell of burning circuitry.  I later learned that the ventral fusion reactor had been breached by the near-unstoppable force of a Danforth-Galactic plasma beam.  Precious seconds passed as the auxiliary power systems kicked in.  Maintenance bots scuttled, and techs grumbled as they went onto action.

Partial displays came on.  

Lots of red.  

Damage control was overwhelmed. 

Hull breaches on decks seven, eight and eleven.

Uncontrolled fires in the life-support section. 

A direct hit on the main communications array.

The drones' reports trickled back.  Minimal impact, the blockade had been breached.  I called them back to the ship after a head-count showed over 70% casualties.  

The blockade runner was carrying parts for a planetary-defense laser.  Two Valgar-class cruisers were lost that day, and the rebels managed to evacuate to who knows where.  I didn't get so much as a distress call out. . .

Yeah, those were the good ol' days before they sent me to die of radiation poisoning while mining Uranium on this blasted rock, if the Janjo worms don't eat all my internal organs first.

All hail the Emperor!