[Thursday, Aug 3, 2079]

[1330 hrs, Ready Room HMS Goliath]

Abrams and her XO, Captain Porter, make themselves comfortable, and then Abrams taps an icon on her desk to open the link channel. Moments later, a hologram of a pleasant-looking man appears.

“Captain Merritt, I’m glad to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Admiral.”

She gestures beside her, “This is my XO, Captain Porter.”

Merritt nods in his direction, then looks back to Abrams.”

“Now that introductions are out of the way, on to a less pleasant subject. What are we facing?”

His grimace tells her everything she needs to know before he even opens his mouth to speak. “In a word: disastrous. we already knew that Groombridge 34 is their main shipyard and troop training system.

“For the last 17 weeks, the HMS Columbia, Revere, and Shaenor have surveyed Groombridge in detail and what we found is extremely daunting, to put it mildly. Thankfully, I believe you’ve brought all the firepower you need to take the system, but our unanimous opinion is the planets, and yes, there are two of them that are livable, would be far too costly to attempt to take.

“I’m sending all of the data we collected now.” He nods to someone offscreen. “You may decide differently as the fleet commander, but I don’t believe you will when you review it.”

“You said there are two planets?” He nods. “How heavily populated?”

“Our AI’s estimated roughly 10 billion on the inner, more temperate, planet, and roughly 6 billion on the other.”

Astounded at the numbers, she stares at him for a moment, then murmurs, “Sixteen billion. You said billion with a B?”

He nods again as he confirms, “Billion with a B. By the AI estimates, the majority of them are warriors.”

She sighs. “Alright. Thanks for your hard work. Columbia, Revere, and Shaenor are to return to Earth for some well-deserved downtime.”

“Thank you, Admiral. This deployment has been… shall we say, rather stressful for the crew.”

As soon as his hologram disappears, Abrams grimaces as she looks at Porter. “The Queen isn’t going to like this, but if the intel is correct, plan B will be our best approach. I’ll need approval from Admiral Brown before we can proceed, though. I’ll get N-2 started on the intel while you get the strike fighter carrier groups deployed to blockade the system.”

“Aye, Aye Ma’am.”

She nods in the direction of the door. He leaves as she presses an icon on her desk, a moment later a female voice says, “N-2, Lieutenant Gadomski speaking. How may I help you?”

 “This is Abrams, I’m sending intel data to you. I need it summarized ASAP. When you finish, have Commander Ellis report to me with it in my ready room.”

“Aye, Aye, Ma’am.”

　◇  ◆  ◇  ◆  ◇  ◆  ◇

The order goes out, and the 1200 strike fighter carriers and their 1800 escort dreadnoughts leave the fleet to make the jump to their assigned positions englobing the system.

Two hours later, a knock on the door. “Enter.”

Commander Ellis enters and hands her a slim data pad. She sets her steaming mug of coffee down and accepts it without looking up from the display on her desk.

“Okay, let’s here the short version, Commander.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, standing at attention, “the long and short of it is that Groombridge 34 is heavily defended. The computer estimates are approximate. but daunting as hell. Approximately 1,600 carriers, 1,500 to 1,700 dreadnaughts, 5,000 to 6,000 battleships, and 10,000 to 12,000 cruisers. 30,000 to 35,000 destroyers, and far too many frigates and pickets to get an accurate count on since they are constantly moving around. We’ll have to wait and see how many of those are actually training ship and not combrat-ready warships.

“Estimates for the two planets are even worse. Orbital defenses alone would be more than enough to overwhelm and decimate the fleet without our advanced shields. Not counting what their carriers can field, the planets are home to around half a million fighters each. Planetary defenses are just as stiff as orbital defenses, if not worse. The computers count a mix of over 15,000 200-centimeter rail cannons, and 50-centimeter laser emplacements on each planet, along with what we believe are 25-centimeter air defense lasers. In addition to all that, they have several hundred vertical launch missile complexes. Manpower is also rather fearsome. The computer estimates on the inner planet we’ll face approximately 8 billion combat troops. On the outer planet, another 4 billion troops.”

She sighed and took a sip of her coffee, grimacing at the tepid temperature. “Admiral Brown won’t like this, but we have no choice. We have to take out Groombridge or they’ll keep reinforcing their other systems and we’ll never get anywhere.

“Alright. Get together with planning and begin developing an engagement plan that will cost us the least amount of ships while doing the most damage to their fleet. We have to take them out before we can even think about the planets.”

“Aye, Aye Ma’am,” he replies and grimaces as he thinks about the coming engagement and just how many people will lose their lives in it.

As Commander Ellis left to work on the engagement plan, she places a call to Admiral Brown, the overall commander of the fleet, a few minutes later, her hologram appears over her desk. Abram’s expression is grim, mirroring the weight of the situation they face. “Admiral,” greets her with a nod.

“Admiral,” she replies, taking a seat and waiting for Abrams to give her report. “Admiral, I’ve just been briefed on the situation. Groombridge 34 is a tougher nut to crack than we anticipated. We knew going into this that Groombridge was their main shipyard and training faculties and that the defenses would be formidable, but the intel I just received about it is rather ominous.”

She leans forward, places her elbows on the desk with a heavy sigh, and sends the intel summary to Brown. “Admiral… Melanie, no matter how we run this engagement, we looking at heavy losses, but it isn’t as if can afford to let them keep reinforcing their other systems unchecked. We have to act, decisively.”

Admiral Brown looks down and reads the data, then looks up and rubs her eyes tiredly. She looks at Abrams for a moment, and replies, “Jess, from what I see, this to be horrific and Queen Sora is not going to be happy about it, but she’ll understand that we have to take Groombridge or we’re done. We just can’t compete with their manpower and ship totals. Our only advantage is our technology, and we must use it to give us the advantage.

“What’s your plan?”

She shrugs slightly. “We’ve englobed the system and that should contain them for now, unless they overwhelm a local position, but we have plans to deal with that if they try. As for the invasion: we're in the process of developing an engagement plan,” she explains. The goal is to inflict maximum damage on their fleet while minimizing our losses.”

Admiral Brown nods. “Good. Keep me updated on their progress,” she says and ends the call.

　◇  ◆  ◇  ◆  ◇  ◆  ◇

Abrams and her command staff stand, along with the hologram of Admiral Brown, standing around a table looking at the hologram of the system, which shows many icons representing both sides of fleet deployments. They describe their plan for the invasion of Groombridge. Abrams tiredly sits down and takes a sip of her spicy, cool drink, feeling the slight burn as it flows down her throat.

She watches as Admiral Brown listens carefully, taking in every detail about their enemy's strengths and weaknesses and occasionally offering advice. Around them, the other staff members mill about. Some typing on their datapads, others deep in thought or discussing alternative tactics. The room is alive with the hum of activity and urgency.

Jessica Abrams sighs, thinking, ‘I’ve been in this room far too often. Making plans that end up with far too many people dead.’ As one of two Planetary Assault Ship commanders, she's spent countless hours planning missions and strategizing in these halls. She breathes deeply, tasting the faint tang of ozone mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the corner dispenser which adds an energizing tinge to the already-charged air. The sound of boots striking polished metal floors echoes throughout as soldiers rush past on important errands or simply take a break between shifts. The tension is palpable but controlled; everyone knows what's at stake here. Not just for them but for Sol's system and all her people.

Looking around, she can see the plan has already been laid out, but as always, her staff constantly tweaks it in an endless pursuit of perfection. However, as the saying goes: perfection is the enemy of done.

Standing up, she claps her hands loudly. Everyone immediately stops what they’re doing and gives her their attention. “Alright, folks. Wrap this up. Add in what you have in the next 5 minutes, and then we’ll brief Admiral Brown.”

Brown states, “Queen Sora will be joining us for the briefing in…” She glances at her wrist, and continues, “22 minutes. You have until then to get this done.”

Abrams nods in acknowledgment of Admiral Brown’s comment. Her gaze sweeps the room and meets several of her staff's eyes which are steeped in worry and anxiety.

“Alright then,” Abrams says, “You hear the Admiral. Let’s get to it.”

Her declaration triggers an immediate flurry of activity as the crew begins finalizing their strategies. Their fingers fly over keypads and interfaces as they race to meet the impending deadline. She watches them work with silent admiration, knowing each member has the knowledge and experience to create the most effective strategy.

As minutes tick by, she follows their progress on her screen and feels the tension mounting in the room. Bursts of silence are punctuated only by low murmurs of discussion and occasional clatter when someone knocks over a chair. As the commanders adjust strategies and tweak tactics, Abrams feels a pang of melancholia wash over her since each subtle change can lead to an unpromised tomorrow for countless beings.

Just as the atmosphere reaches a point of near suffocating tension, a digital chime rings out breaking the silence. A soft sigh escapes Abrams; their time is up. All eyes turn towards her, awaiting her signal.

She stands tall, shoulders squared, giving them all a measured look before nodding approvingly. “Well done, everyone,” she commends her team collectively as she turns towards Admiral Brown's hologram with her expression holding a glimmer of hope, and simply states, “We’re ready.”

A minute later, Queen Sora’s hologram joins the conference. Everyone stands at attention and salutes her and she immediately says, “ At ease everyone. It’s late here and I’m tired, so let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Abrams then guides Admiral Brown and the Queen through their finalized plan for the Groombridge invasion, detailing each step meticulously to ensure no stone is left unturned. The air is thick with anticipation as they contemplate what could be the turning point of their struggle with Groombridge.

As Abrams finishes presenting their strategic approach, she takes a moment to scan the faces of those present. The faces she sees are grim yet determined, each person absorbed in the gravity of the looming confrontation. Even Sora, a face that often bears an indomitable optimism, is painted with deep-set lines of concern. She finishes her stare across the room at Admiral Brown, whose holographic representation remained impassive and stoic as she considered the plan.

“Well,” the Queen finally breaks the silence, her voice steady despite the fatigue etched in her features, “Your thoroughness is commendable as usual, Abrams.”

A grateful smile flickers across Abrams’ face, but she remains silent. Her eyes stay glued on Sora, the monarch's consideration of the strategies weighing heavily on her. There is a silence that hangs in the room, lingering like a specter. When Sora finally nods thoughtfully, Abrams feels relief wash over her.

“Very well,” Sora continues, her hands smoothing over the folds of her skirt as she glances around the room, “It’s risky, but we don’t have a lot of choices here and I can see you have a solid plan.” She straightens up and with a determined yet resigned expression, she continues, “Admiral Abrams?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“You may begin when ready.”

Abrams stands at attention and salutes. “Aye Aye, Your Majesty,” she states firmly.