In the same sector approximately several million kilometers from Shield-7's surface, an Earth Defense Force (EDF) destroyer completed its FTL jump, but...
This destroyer was less than two hundred meters long, and its crew complement, including embarked soldiers, didn't exceed two hundred personnel.
This was the EDF destroyer Courage, responsible for coming to "rescue" the Ishimura.
In fact, even though the Courage hadn't arrived following the Dead Space universe's original timeline—coming to "rescue" after receiving distress signals from Kellion crew members—it still "arrived as scheduled" at Shield-7.
It seemed that rather than rescue, it was more accurate to say they came to "silence witnesses," obtaining more intelligence about Markers from survivors before destroying all evidence.
From known information, this warship was equipped with multiple twin-mount point defense guns, several missile launch units, and capability to carry tactical and strategic nuclear missiles—and Courage carried nuclear warheads.
Who would deliberately carry nuclear weapons on a rescue mission?
At this moment, Courage slowly emerged from FTL afterflow, hull still bearing faint plasma traces. The destroyer itself was like a sharp spear in the dark void, pointing directly at the "silent" Shield-7.
On the bridge, navigation and tactical projections switched post-jump initial data. Cold white screens displayed Shield-7's coordinates, Ishimura's relative position, and... numerous "faint" traces considered "unknown trajectories (Imperial Martial Legion vessels)" or "magnetic interference" patterns.
Lieutenant Colonel F. Cadigan stood at the bridge center, before him an integrated command station with extended tactical holograms and various status indicators.
His face appeared more resolute and grave than usual under emergency lighting, brows bearing the habits of a combat commander.
Beyond the viewports, deep space stretched like endless ink wash, Shield-7's outline faintly visible in the distance, reflecting cold light bands from Courage's bow.
"Ishimura, please respond if you copy. We are EDF Courage, here to execute rescue mission. Respond immediately."
Cadigan's voice transmitted steadily through ship channels, carrying both military professional rigor and command decisiveness.
However, what responded wasn't what he expected, but came from "unknown trajectories" that had already appeared on their radar—cold metallic voices echoing throughout the bridge:
"Courage, this is the Imperial Martial Legion of the Human Empire. Cease all actions, disarm, and await recovery."
This command from the Imperial Martial fleet was like invisible shackles, tightening every nerve aboard Courage.
?!
Air on Courage's bridge instantly solidified.
That metallic cold voice seemed to press down from void's depths, making every crew member's heart suddenly sink.
Human Empire?
Imperial Martial Legion?
These terms were unheard of, yet carried undeniable authority.
Fingers on control panels began trembling. The navigator couldn't help whispering: "Empire? There have never been other human forces in the galaxy... where did they come from?"
More heart-stopping were those "unknown trajectories" on radar screens rapidly clarifying and suddenly revealing even denser tracks—
The originally empty Shield-7 sector was instantly illuminated by countless strange ship shadows, layer upon layer, like steel-woven hunting nets rapidly contracting.
Panic spread like wildfire. Some nearly cried out, others stared at screens, faces pale, breathing irregular.
"This should have been a clean elimination operation..."
The deputy officer murmured, eyes mixing despair.
However, on chaos's edge, Lieutenant Colonel Cadigan remained standing straight.
He wasn't crushed by fear but coldly rebuked: "Steady! We are Defense Force military, not panicked miners. No unknown force's military intimidation can make us lose composure!"
His voice cut through confusion like a blade, bringing both oppression and order to the bridge. Then he grimly ordered: "Immediately activate FTL engines, prepare forced withdrawal! We must return to Earth, let the Federation know what happened."
Instantly, everyone grasped this lifeline. Engineers and navigators hurriedly operated FTL procedures, bulkheads resonating with engines' deep standby rumble.
But just as everyone held their breath waiting to escape, the entire hull suddenly shook, then all screens flickered.
After a few brief seconds, Courage's various system alarms triggered—
Fire control calibration failed, navigation gyroscopes drifted, ballistic calculations disrupted by external signals.
Cabin lighting switched from main sources to emergency red, instrument panels emitting low-frequency warning hums.
The communications officer's voice came through tension: "Sir, our fire control and propulsion systems appear affected by powerful electronic interference, unable to maintain stable target locks."
Cadigan didn't panic.
He knew these "strange forces" appearing in this region weren't ordinary, but he also understood that the Ishimura and Shield-7 might hide secrets capable of leveraging Federation interests.
Marker rumors had long circulated among higher echelons—any fleet receiving signals and coming here might carry different mission motives.
Moreover, Courage's mission wasn't simple rescue.
The half combat platoon and nuclear-capable missile launch units aboard indicated command had prepared to place this operation under extreme options—if necessary, using total destruction to cover evidence and eliminate witnesses.
"Priority repair communications, restore long-range broadcast frequencies. We must inform the Federation of everything happening here, let them prepare early."
Cadigan calmly ordered while turning toward the ship's armory, using action to suppress anxiety spreading throughout the vessel.
Because beyond the bridge and ship, this colonel had already anticipated "enemy" vessel craft beginning operations.
On still-functioning radar, a boarding craft and multiple light escort fighters launched from an opponent's kilometer-class vessel—also a destroyer, specifically a Star Destroyer—from its hangar.
This small formation cut through darkness like a blade, charging toward Courage.
"Bridge report, detecting one landing craft approaching our port side, estimated five minutes to combat contact distance!"
The bridge deputy's voice carried barely perceptible tremor.
At such moments, Cadigan didn't choose surrender.
Before reaching the armory, he issued a series of harsh, clear commands—
Activate local electromagnetic protection, switch to manual close-range defensive barrages, seal internal isolation valves to reduce potential hull damage chain reactions, while having engineering teams prepare manual repairs of damaged subsystems, buying time to report to Federation headquarters.
"Regardless, we must preserve evidence, transmit all this back."
The colonel spoke through communication channels, but more to himself and as warning to every EDF soldier aboard.
Soon, he donned military-grade specialized RIG protective suit, carrying pulse rifle, leading about half a combat platoon of soldiers to Courage's internal storage bay.
Boom.
Boom.
Metal bulkhead doors sealed behind them, closing sounds echoing through steel corridors like brief oaths.
Soldiers' faces were concealed by helmet visors, but beneath helmets, their eyes held both fear and professional calm suppressing fear.
The storage bay was inherently a multipurpose "combat" area.
Stocked with supply crates, maintenance equipment, folding blast barriers, and some light vehicles.
Everything was rearranged and reinforced after the emergency—sandbags arranged as temporary cover, heavy shelving adjusted into defense-in-depth lines.
Cadigan ordered two temporary high-frequency oscillators set at the storage bay entrance as final containment measures, while deploying remote beacons outside the ship, attempting to breakthrough "enemy" electronic blockade and send distress signals.
Meanwhile, Courage's technical officers and engineers engaged in a "race" against time before damaged subsystems.
Circuit boards flickered under emergency lights, welding torches jumping like meteors in narrow spaces, young engineers sweating but skilled in technique.
After several attempts, critical short-range radar and local sensors gradually restored basic functions. Brief, low cheers sounded shipwide, but this joy was extremely short-lived—
"Enemy" landing craft approach warnings continued intensifying.
In storage bay depths, Cadigan patted a young sergeant's shoulder, gaze turning to rows of neatly arranged pulse rifles, saying:
"What you must do isn't wait to be overrun, but make them pay, hold them back. Even one more minute for engineers could save countless people, transmit information from here."
"Yes, sir."
Soldiers quietly responded, voices carrying determination.
Externally, "enemy" landing craft began accelerating, a white bright point entering Courage's sensor range.
Meanwhile, that cold, metallic Imperial Martial fleet voice continued low-frequency loop broadcasts on shortwave frequencies, mechanically telling them:
Surrender was the smoothest path.
Cadigan observed all this, complex thoughts rising, finally quietly telling accompanying sergeants:
"Remember, we are soldiers, Federation elite! If we must fight, leave everything to heaven and time."
"Yes! Sir!"
Courage's soldiers arranged defenses in narrow metal bellies, awaiting that first wave of impact from darkness—
Whether vanishing landing craft or coldly ruthless Imperial Martial forces, when truly striking ship compartments, they would use everything available to buy time.
Beyond this cramped metal space, starry sky remained wordless, "storm clouds" condensing.
Imperial Martial ship shadows stood blade-like in the distance, while Courage's atmosphere reached breaking point.
Every soldier knew true confrontation hadn't fully erupted, and when it came, no one could alone bear entire history's weight.
Hum. Hum.
Manually calibrated point defense guns opened fire, shooting vibrations conducting layer by layer through metal bulkheads, penetrating thick storage bay structures into everyone's eardrums.
That was some teeth-grinding resonance, even air trembling with frequency.
Everyone understood—that was the vessel's last defensive firepower's "cry," doing everything possible to intercept incoming targets.
Storage bay atmosphere grew increasingly heavy with this dull rumbling.
Soldiers held their breath, gazes instinctively turning outward, knowing enemies were close.
Boom—!!!
Without warning or excess alerts.
Storage bay side walls were suddenly pierced by blazing thermal lance beams, like giant swords swung from void depths, instantly cleaving steel and alloy.
Brilliant light mixed with acrid burned metal scents—before spreading, instantly swept by sudden atmospheric imbalance.
Whoosh————!!!
Storage bay air roared furiously, becoming violent torrents rushing toward breaches.
Intense suction lifted unfixed machinery, loaded supply crates, even scattered weapon components, dragging them toward that dark infinite void.
Instantly, the storage bay became a howling wind tunnel—weightlessness and pressure changes plunging everything into chaos.
However, the colonel and his soldiers weren't swallowed by this catastrophic force.
They had already firmly activated battle suit magnetic adhesion systems, boot soles locked dead to decking, magnetic lock vibrations constantly transmitting through combat boots to calves, making them clearly feel threats from that silent universe outside.
In gaps before air completely drained and environment plunged into vacuum, their reactions were almost pure instinct.
"Fire—!"
Commands not yet shouted, gunfire already pouring.
Dozens of pulse beams became blinding radiance, all shooting toward massive shadows breaking through breaches.
That was an Imperial Martial Thunderhawk assault craft, like fangs directly entering through breaches, accompanied by violent bearing, forcibly occupying storage bay airspace.
Hum—Hum—!
Energy shields flickered around the craft's hull, raising undulating light membranes.
All shooting was deflected without exception, becoming scattered sparks and chaotic energy flows, splashing brilliant ripples on storage bay inner walls.
Firepower that should have torn targets apart was now merely futile flames.
Next, assault craft nose bay doors slowly opened, mechanical structures producing deep gear-meshing sounds, like some giant beast opening fangs.
In dark cabin interiors, pairs of deep red light points emerged.
Those were helmet visor cold lights—Astartes' icy faceplate "eyes" lighting up together in dim hatch mouths.
Instantly, all EDF soldiers' nerves in the storage bay nearly snapped.
Bang—Bang—!
Bolter round roars suddenly erupted—heavy, oppressive, instantly overwhelming turbulence and alarm noise.
Firelight poured from cabin depths like rainstorms, striking storage bay metal floors and armored cover.
Bang! Bang!
Two soldiers beside the colonel bore the brunt—their figures shook violently in firelight yet weren't blasted into flesh fragments as imagined, but directly knocked over by violent impact forces.
Battle suit resistance layers shook violently, displays flickering overload warnings. They were thrown against bulkheads, heavily striking alloy plates before losing consciousness.
Soon, the colonel realized—
These Imperial Martial forces hadn't chosen lethal firepower.
Indeed, the colonel's guess was correct—Imperial Martial used non-lethal payloads, projectiles releasing powerful shock waves on contact, sufficient to completely incapacitate ordinary soldiers without physically tearing them apart.
Storage bay defensive firepower was meaningless against assault craft, while EDF soldier resistance was futile before these Astartes.
Combat lasted mere seconds.
With final dull bolter explosions, storage bay firepower gradually fell silent.
As internal and external pressure stabilized, fallen soldiers lay across decking, breathing apparatus producing irregular hissing under helmets. Most had lost combat capability, leaving only the colonel still half-kneeling, weapon in hand.
Red light reflected on his faceplate—an irresistible gaze from Astartes' cold, majestic observation.
He understood—they had no chance of victory.
Or rather, the Federation had no room for resistance whatsoever.
______
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