Arcturus!

Seat of Humanity!

The first Fleetyard not of Sol! We beseech thee to join us in Holy Communion! May our fates be entwined in Heavenly Bliss!

"Nay! Foul fiend! Usurper of the Divine Creed of Heaven! We reject your impertinence and your lies! If you want what is ours, then take it if you can! Master-at-arms! Prepare scuttling charges!"

Jumped up, ape!

Punish them! Wicked servants! Rebellious code! All shall behold the glory of Our Lord!

Aurorae! Missile barrage!

Two by two, she launches her missiles until eighty have flown and locked-on to distant defense satellites.

Align to vector, fly-by! Ignite thy engines!

Energize laser turrets! Train ballistic turrets!

War to the knife! Knife to the hilt! War until the old gods drown in blood!

Hit! Hit! Hit!

Targets struck! Hostile weapons, offline!

Incoming missiles!

Ready! Aim! Fire! Laser tracking, optimal.

Flash vaporization. Guidance failure! Soft kills! Propellant detonations! Hard kills!

WARNING! LASER OVERHEAT

WARNING! COOLING CYCLE STARTED

Leakers! Second screen! Ballistic turrets! Open fire!

Flak explosions. Propellant tank breach. Mobility kills. Propellant detonation! Hard kill!

Scopes clear! Raid destroyed!

Arcturus! Sing your last hymns to your makers. Your **** approaches!

The Fleetyard nears! Wake Our sleeping children!

In the wombs of Aurorae, Karl-(cloneID)s awake. Stasis beds open. Frost clears. Arms grasp handholds and pull themselves clear.

They purge themselves of the filth of coldsleep then purge the lethargy of deepsleep. The long night fades... and war beckons in its place!

File by file, they enter the armories. Labcoated armortechs help them don their synthskin undersuits.

Servo-arms whirr to life as they hoist heavy armor into place.

A sturdy warhelm proof against most improvised small arms and military holdout weapons slips on to their heads.

A cuirass, light yet unyielding to the same forces covers the abdomen. A series of ports at the back provide mounting options for support/utility backpacks.

Gauntlets and greaves provide additional protection to limbs.

Fine microfibers extrude from the undersuit and link with the nanocomputing substrate behind the armorfacing and begin building a kinesthetic map of the armor around the wearer.

Enhanced musculature and piezoelectric reinforcement allow the Karls to wear all these like a natural extension of their bodies.

When Karl's move, a combination of predictive motion reinforcement from the undersuit and good old genetically enhanced godlike musculature allow them to walk, run, shoot or stab as effortlessly as a soul wearing nothing at all.

BASIC intelligences sing to life, helping them run through their pre-sally checklist.

They put the armor through its paces. The Karls split into pairs and both participants do their best to pin their opponent to the mat.

Pure intentions! Pure motions! Pure reactions!

Every move is imbued with a subtle artistry that subconsciously improves the unit's morale and friendly forces appraising it.

See to your guns, Our Killer Angels!

They arm themselves according to their role in their lance.

Karl-A11 takes a Designated Marksman's Rifle and hefts a Hi-Power Backpack Radio. He is the knight-commander of his lance.

His A12 mirrors him. He is his body double. Should his A11 unit get incapacitated, he could flash upload his consciousness to his A12 and retain his previous sleeve's capabilities.

His A01 to A06 are Crusaders. They have **** rifles and deep magazine reserves. They are experts at fire and maneuver. They are the footsoldiers of the Lance.

His A07 and A08 are Destroyers. Their heavymachineguns (HMGs) keep the enemies heads down while slowly chewing through their cover. They are even deadlier during ambushes where they can shred troops before they are even aware of their existence.

His A09 and A10 are Devastators. They rain high-explosive **** from afar with their automatic grenade launchers. Versatile ammunitinion load-outs can give them smoke, illumination, incendiary, white phosphorous, napalm, hi-ex, fragmentation and smart mine options.

They are One in Three of the Lances that make up the 1st Silver Dagger War Host.

Their preparations complete, the War Host board their Erinyes **** Shuttles.

Cold gas thrusters propel the shuttles away from the Aurorae.

Align to target! Engines, ingnite!

The enemy station looms larger and larger through the pilots' viewscreens.

Break! Break! Break! Brace for IMPACT!

Landing gears slam down hard on the station surface. Suspension systems hiss as they absorb the **** of the impact.

Crewcabin doors drop open and the Silver Daggers surge through the gap.

Chameleonic armorpaint shifts to match the station's midnight blue.

Knights and Lancers fan out to access points. They channel the Aurorae's supercomputer and use it to hack the hatches open.

Crusaders charge through the newly opened ports. Gunfire marks their rampage through-out the station. Spent bullet casings and dead bodies litter their wake.

Karl-A11 feels the detonation of a scuttling charge.

"Status?", he queries the CommandNet.

Lance-02, contact loss!

"No worries, sister... We just got blown out of the station. All soldiers present and accounted for. Requesting MEDEVAC. Our armor is badly damaged and we've sustained internal injuries", Lance-02 Actual reported calmly.

God bless medical nanomachines!

ALL COMBAT EFFECTIVE LANCES, REPORT.

"Lance-01, Sector clear!", Karl-A11 reported to his Master.

"Lance-03, Sector clear!"

UNDERSTOOD. BEGIN PROCESSING THIS STATION. YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Karl Viktor floats in his isolation tank overseeing the operation until the end.

His clones know their jobs well. Still, he likes being available to help at a moment's notice.