as written by Ottoman
The rumbling approach of the gargantuan creature was not lost on the Syndicate forces already planetside, its steps drawing an air of curious quiet among their number as the footfalls first shook the earth, but in a matter of moments that silence was shattered. Marines across the area formed up on their Kannibale support mechs and Näherin IFVs, weapons turned from Westeria City to be brought to bear on whatever monster approached from the Midlands. Officers hurried their troops along as NCOs barked orders, the infantry moving to whatever high ground they could find to begin deploying their heavy weapons, though amongst it all Redwing stood resolute in her forward position, her black and white armor betraying nothing of her visage, but behind the opaque visor a sliver of worry played upon her brow, made manifest with her words.
"Attention Kybalion, this is SLF Alfar Actual - reporting possible Collective contact. Over."
They were beyond number and comprehension, a long-supposed force lurking in the dark, unknown corners of space, a superstitious boogeyman meant to get children to stay in bed - but, to the horror of trillions, the Supremacy had found out that they were all too real. From beyond the edge of the Milky Way they came, unchecked crystalline warfleets pouring from Jovian worlds across the Garden, matching Austran will and Azrican wit with the strength of the brutal G'lakkh and the sheer numbers of the Sadik, the Aboraz warlords burning whole worlds as they sought to erase the Supremacy from existence. In the first war the Scatterrans hardly stood a chance as man for man, ship for ship, they were hopelessly outclassed, outgunned and outnumbered, the fledgling Supremacy almost in a constant state of retreat from this alien menace. The worlds set ablaze by the crystal fleets were the fortunate ones, given the grace of a quick death, for those imperial worlds where the Collective's myriad hordes deigned to make landfall were doomed to a meticulous campaign of extermination. But neither the crystal dreadnoughts or many races of the Collective's motley ranks was quite as devastating to Imperial morale as the great war beasts of the D'jinn.
Mighty and terrible they were, creatures manufactured for use as machines of war, ranging from unholy mounted cavalry to titanic, city-dwarfing fortresses striding the battlefield - these constructs spelled doom in those early days for any world they set foot on. Eoven, Höxter, Solling. Just three planets immortalized in the Crusade of First Contact, worlds whose names now were monuments to the countless billions who fell against the puissant Collective's war machine, a testament to the Supremacy's hubris and a vastly underestimated threat. Across dozens of systems and hundreds of worlds they marched on, closing on Tannhäuser and the Core, an unstoppable alien tide washing over Imperial civilization, halted only by what many called a miracle. Perhaps the most notable engagement of the war was the infamous Battle of Tannhäuser Gate, the Collective fleet not merely stopped but devastated by the tactical cunning of Volstad Stier, but unbeknownst to many abroad, another engagement, just as pivotal, helped turn the tide in those desperate days - the Invasion of Sylt. For on that distant desert planet, something incredible happened.
A beast of war was slain.
One of the great walking fortresses of the Collective, known as a Krake in Supremacy military vernacular, strode across the sands of Sylt's dry seas as their fleets battled in the skies above, moving to crush the only city on the planet when it was met by the desperate, sallying defenders. It was an armored brigade who thought to meet a valorous end rather than a cowardly one - something they might have seen as, at best, a futile, hopeless attempt. Perhaps the beast's commanders felt much the same, their lax treatment of the situation allowing the Miracle of Sylt to happen, but whatever the case, as scores of comrades perished all around, one of the tanks dared to make one final stand, driving straight between the creature's legs and calling for orbital broken arrow. The TIMIV Insurgent answered the call, coordinating the strike with the desperate tank commander's comm-signal, and for her heroism and sacrifice Leutnant Sigrid Geyer was forever immortalized in Scatterran history. That month marked the beginning of something beautiful as the Collective's drive, as if by the will of the divine, lost all momentum - the simultaneous victories for the Imperial Starfleet and their earthbound colleagues saw a resurgence of Imperial morale, as for once it was made abundantly clear that these monsters were mortal.
Steadily the war turned in their favor on all fronts, the Scatterrans delving further and further into the Austran militarism that had twice over saved their civilization, and in time they attained the means to enact their vengeance, shaped by their experiences in the Crusade of First Contact. Gone were the squat, bulky vessels of the Exodus and Volstad Stier's fleet, replaced by sleek, angular leviathans that rivaled the crystal dreadnoughts of their archenemy - cruisers that dwarfed the battleships of the Coalition, meant to meet and break the Jovian titans that had hounded the Supremacy across the stars and carry their cities with them, never again leaving them at the mercy of an alien menace. Absent too were the armored fighting vehicles the likes of which Leutnant Geyer knew, usurped by quick, lightly armored hovercraft, capable of rapid redeployment and sharp evasive maneuvers, at least in part. In truth, the Austran empire still held in its heart a deep-set affection for the armored titans of war that their Panzers had once been, and in some sense, still are.
Such, perhaps, was the greatest result of that first bloody war with the Collective - the armored mechs of the Imperial Panzerkorps, armored titans of their own meant to stride across the battlefield, to scourge their worlds and crush their wives and children underfoot. From the quick and nimble Rabe to the hulking and fearsome Basilisk, these were machines meant to put mortal men and women on equal footing with interstellar monstrosities of all stripes, disciples of Saint Sigrid of Sylt, the knights of Kampf's realm, riding out to meet the monstrous and demonic threats that stir between the stars. Even now the 6915th Armored Brigade stirred in the belly of the SNV Kybalion far above Valore, whole lances of mechs moving to board their Hræsvelgr transports at even the slightest possibility of a Collective presence on the world below.
"SLF Alfar actual, do you have confirmation? Over."
The colonel sighed, looking over the crude command center she and her retinue had managed to establish in the few minutes since their landing, the holographic projection before her displaying the surrounding two-hundred miles of terrain, but only vague projections of where the noise, the vibrations, were coming from. "Negative Kybalion, only aural contact." A brief glance to her flank, to the Legionnaire who stood ram-rod straight, hovering near the holographic projection over which he drew his golden gaze, "Who's the farthest flight out right now?"
The automaton blinked only once, not breaking its eyes away from the hologram before it. "Gigant flight, eight Valkyrie class multirole starfighters, currently..." It fell silent for a moment, the former Scatterran unphased as it executed a quick cerebral command with the projector, "Here." The map drew itself down, zooming on a formation of aircraft arrayed in a lopsided V, currently engaged in a wide, circular patrol deep in the Midlands. He shifted his pale face, unburdened by the helmets that so many around them wore, looking to Redwing at that note, figuring that she asked for a reason.
"Redirect them, I want eyes on whatever this is."
"At once, colonel." It stated, blinking once again, looking back down to the map as it began to rattle off orders to Gigant flight, the methodical machine relaying the Colonel's intentions to the aircraft, though its efforts were soon unintentionally interrupted. Its blank expression narrowed its eyes for a moment, though whether this was done out of confusion or some other, seemingly absent emotion was unclear. "Colonel Redwing, incoming transmission from... Papa Charlie Three Three - Charlie Three One." It glanced back to the noblewoman, the unspoken question of whether to answer plain, even on its blank face. With a sigh the helmeted figure nodded once, another unseen command from the cyborg bringing up a display for the audio feed from the Coalite buggy.
"... come in SLF Actual this is Papa Charlie Three Three - Charlie Three One we are inbound from the northwest, we've got the rest of 3rd platoon on it's way to intercept this thing. Hold your fire on bearing 320, over."
"Solid copy Papa Charlie Three Three - Charlie Three One," She answered, switching easily from Austric to Aenglis, her Imperial accent very obvious to anyone listening. "This is SLF Alfar actual, do you or your platoon have visual contact on this bogey yet? Over." The slender Azrican leaned over the display, having the machine nearby focus the display on this newfound Coalition contact. She was thankful for her helmet, canceling out much of the noise as a flight of holographic contacts moved over her FOB's marker on the display, the aircraft buzzing the position, their scramjet engines rattling everything about her even with several hundred meters of altitude.
"The Collective should not have elements this far past the Veil."
