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Chapter 95 Fleet Training
Chapter 95 Fleet Training
The psionic focusing antenna array at the top of the Star Tower silently points into the void in the vacuum, occasionally capturing fragmented signals from the direction of the solar star region.
The Greenskins' activity is increasing. Reconnaissance fleets from the Armageddon Theater Fleet engaged in brief skirmishes with small Greenskin fleets in several peripheral star systems within the Solar System. The battle reports were compressed into dry binary streams, transmitted intermittently through the psionic tides of the warp. These signals, originally intended as internal reports to naval command, were thrown off their intended channels by the psionic turbulence of the warp, drifting and spreading in the Chaos Sea, and were eventually intercepted by chance at Garros's astronomical relay station.
When it fell into the hands of the Star Speaker, all that remained was a pile of fragments that could not be pieced together.
"—Intercepted the orc scout fleet—approximately twenty enemy ships—our forces, outnumbered, defeated the enemy—"
"—The theater fleet reports that this matter will be submitted to the sector command for a decision by higher command—"
Even through the psionic channel, one could sense the characteristic sluggishness of the Imperial military bureaucracy. It wasn't that they didn't take it seriously, but rather that these scattered, fragmented reconnaissance reports couldn't piece together any clear picture. The navy's attitude remained consistent: the Armageddon fleet would operate independently, intelligence would be reported up the chain of command, decision-making would take time, and everything would be handled according to procedure. As for whether the procedures themselves could keep up with the spread of the threat, that wasn't a question written into any of the regulations.
News occasionally came from Lucis. When the Wanderer-class transport ships were transiting through Lucis for resupply, Vitellius's messages would sometimes be relayed back to Garros.
It's said that Vitellius's position as a fifth-tier sage is very secure, with various forces checking and balancing each other, and no one daring to make a rash move, making him the safest one. As for how the imperial edict came to be, and how Vitellius responded to the investigations from all sides, the message didn't mention it, and no one knows. The specifics will only be known through a personal conversation between Cohen and Vitellius, or perhaps the issue will never be discussed again.
The Black Pearl was moored in the main berth of the spaceport. The Truth stood beside it, while two Lunar-class cruisers—the Dauntless and the Glory—and ten Cobras hovered silently in the outer rails. The crimson armor gleamed dark red under the starlight, and the Garros gear and skull insignia on the sides of the hull were clearly visible in the beams of the guide lights.
Fleet formation training has commenced in full swing. Training doesn't begin only after the combatants have completed their training; ships and crew operate in tandem.
Marcus stood on the bridge of the Black Pearl, the blue halo of his right mechanical eye slowly expanding and contracting on the star map of the holographic projection platform. The captains of all twelve new ships were present, their holographic images projected onto the monitors around the bridge; some were composed, some tense, and some expressionless.
"Formation navigation, first subject." Marcus's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. "Maintain spacing, synchronize relative speeds, and don't drag your feet on turns. If you can't keep up, go back and practice."
The Black Pearl led the way in the center, with the Truth, Dauntless, and Glory flanking it on the wings. The ten Cobras were divided into two squadrons, one on the left and one on the right, like outstretched wings. The thrusters ignited, their exhaust trails leaving blue streaks in the vacuum, and the convoy slowly moved away from the berth area, guided by the pilot beams. Marcus wasn't sitting in the captain's chair; he stood at the tactical console, his hands resting on the table, his gaze sweeping over the tracking data of each ship.
"Cobra Squadron 1, turn three degrees to the left, reduce speed by two percent. Spacing is too large."
"Cobra Squadron 2, turn right twice and follow the wake of the Glory."
"Dauntless, your steering was a beat too slow. Check the servo response."
The instructions were transmitted throughout the entire formation via laser communication array. On their first joint voyage, the course was erratic, the spacing between ships fluctuated, and the turns were sometimes fast and sometimes slow. Cobra Squadron 1 swung almost half its hull while turning, and the squadron leader's suppressed voice came through the bridge communication channel: "The servo response is slow; I'll adjust it."
Marcus didn't get angry. He had spent most of his life in the Navy and knew that it was already quite good that the first batch could operate like this. His mechanical eye stared at the data panel, recording the response parameters of each ship and marking the areas that needed improvement in the training log.
Three hours later, the fleet returned to port. The guide lights in the berth area formed a bright arc in the darkness as the fourteen ships slid into their berths in succession, their attitude thrusters silently ejecting streams of ion in the vacuum. Marcus turned off the holographic projector and walked towards the gangway.
"We'll continue tomorrow," he said.
Day two, day three, week one, week two. The spacing between Cobra Squadron members was reduced from several hundred kilometers initially to within the standard range, and their turning response, which was sluggish in the first week, was now keeping pace. The turret rotation tests of the Dauntless and Glory were completed in the third week—the charging curves of the Light Lance, the firing parameters of the Macro Cannon, and the energy distribution logic of the Void Shield were all repeatedly calibrated in the airspace within the Garros system. Marcus's comments in the training log changed from "barely passable" to "acceptable," and then from "acceptable" to "good."
Coordinated shooting is the subject of the second stage.
The targets were unmanned buoys pre-deployed in the airspace, simulating the size and signal characteristics of an enemy capital ship. The Black Pearl led the way, with the Dreadnought and Glory flanking it, and the Cobra Squadron patrolling the flanks. When Marcus gave the firing command, blue-white energy beams of light lances shot from the Luna-class ships, leaving piercing streaks in the vacuum; the macro cannons' shells, trailing dark red contrails, slammed into the targets; and the Cobra Squadron's torpedoes fired a final salvo, simulating the energy waves emanating from the warheads as they exploded around the targets.
The hit rate wasn't high. In the first coordinated attack, the Dauntless's light lance deviated by three degrees, and the timing of the Cobra torpedo salvo missed. Marcus projected the data onto the holographic platform and went through it line by line.
"The three-degree deviation is because the fire control calculations didn't synchronize with the Glory's detection data." The gunnery officer from the Dreadnought was a man in his forties, transferred from the Black Pearl, and his tone carried a hint of dissatisfaction. "Next time during calibration, run the synchronization link first."
"The time difference in the torpedo salvo was due to a communication delay within Cobra Squadron," the squadron leader of Cobra Squadron 1 admitted. "We'll go back and investigate."
Marcus nodded. There was no blame, no criticism. Mistakes made on the training field are always better than mistakes made on the battlefield.
In the fourth week, the hit rate of coordinated fire doubled. In the fifth week, the Cobra Squadron's torpedo salvos finally produced a neat barrage. In the sixth week, Marcus began to join the Tactical Maneuver Squadron, performing evasive maneuvers while firing, simulating firepower confrontations in a real combat environment.
The immigrant convoy continued its transport. Led by the Resolute, ten Wanderer-class boats carried sections, while five Odysseus-class boats sailed directly. Each time the convoy docked, the people descending the gangplank reminded everyone that Cohen-Gallos's population was growing, the dome was expanding, the factories were operating, and the army was expanding.
In the seventh week, the coordinated shooting score stabilized at "excellent".
Marcus moved the training to the third phase: a joint fleet exercise. This simulated an enemy fleet invasion, testing the response speed of the entire defense system. The Black Pearl and Truth played the main roles, while the Dauntless and Glory, each leading their respective Cobra squadrons, were responsible for flanking maneuvers and torpedo attacks. The exercise lasted a full day and night, rehearsing everything from initial contact, engagement, retreat, and pursuit to the final boarding and mopping-up operation, all according to real combat standards.
"Not bad." Marcus said only one word at the debriefing meeting. But those who knew him well knew that to hear "not bad" from this veteran naval officer was already a very high compliment.
Two months later, the fleet's ships had largely achieved operational readiness in navigation, coordination, firing, and maneuvering. Ships could reach their positions, guns could fire accurately, torpedoes could be fired in salvos, damage control could keep up, and communication links could withstand high-intensity jamming. What remained was the integration of personnel and ships. Combatants hadn't boarded the ships yet, and boarding and counter-boarding maneuvers hadn't been practiced. Those things would have to wait until the combatants' training was complete.
Marcus outlined the next phase of training on the holographic platform, adjusting routine formation training to a maintenance exercise, reducing the frequency from once a day to twice a week. The freed-up time was allocated to integration training for combatants after they boarded the ship.