A Series of Unfortunate Events
There are many examples in human military history of leaders gambling on desperate, all-or-nothing offensives against terrible odds. The Germans undertook Operation Michael in 1918 knowing full well that it would either win the war for the Empire, or make it utterly un-winnable. In WW2, they launched the Ardennes and Lake Balaton operations in 1945 - the last, gasping convulsions of a dying regime and state system. The Russian Empire, too, had its own Brusilov and Kerensky Offensives - dire efforts at breaking the stalemate of the Eastern Front and achieving a decisive victory against a capable foe. Napoleon had the Battle of Waterloo etc., etc. The exposition of such cases could go on for some time. But it must be said that there is a certain romance - perhaps elan is a more appropriate term - to such obviously doomed ventures. And there is something special about the men and women who throw themselves into the furnace of history, by participating in them. One would not be amiss in characterizing the Codexian offensive known as 'Operation Godhammer' thus.
Even as economic collapse threatened the Codexian state in May 269AU, and more young worlds swirled around the 'proverbial toilet' (a term coined by core worlders) known as the Commonwealth, the Codexian military prepared for a do-or-die effort against the hated Hin'in enemy. The complications besetting the offensive, of course, did not end at economic ruin and possible civil war. In addition to the aforementioned, the government's bid to put a halt to the economic decline was based on cutting military production to the bone. Codexian commanders could expect no serious reinforcements beyond the already badly denuded Strategic Reserve. Therefore, the campaign HAD to be successful; decisively so. Even partial failure could spell disaster. Restarting production of full-fledged military vessels would take months, and would require far greater funds than the government had at its disposal, by this time.
While the military finalized its preparations for the looming offensive, another two worlds haphazardly declared for the Commonwealth. Though it was still a burgeoning state entity, the new additions to its growing family allowed it to now boast of some actual industrial potential and economic heft. Furthermore, by absolving the Commonwealth of Codexian government debt and taxation, its newly appointed statesmen essentially wiped the slate clean. The worlds in question could once again begin developing naturally. This contributed to a real sense of progress in the 'Commo', however fleeting. A complete lack of response from the central government regarding the secessions both emboldened the population of the Commonwealth and enraged that of the core worlds. While most of the latter understood that the Hin'in War had to come first, they nonetheless girded themselves for what many believed to be an inevitable civil war. The Commos, for their part, also considered it merely a matter of time. They immediately began retooling various industrial concerns for the production of arms and munitions. There was a determination there not to go down without a fight.
Such a confrontation, however, was not yet in the offing. Firstly, the little matter of Op. Godhammer had to be resolved. On 15 June 269AU, the greater bulk of the Codexian Navy set off from dozens of established jump-off points - off on their grand attempt to finally break the four-eyed aliens in a sweeping battle of attrition and maneuver. Military leadership and the public alike awaited the results of the offensive with baited breath. The first reports were encouraging. They spoke of rapid victories against diluted concentrations of Hin'in power. Several systems fell quickly and easily, with minimal casualties. An initial euphoria took over on the homefront, in particular, where the people cheered their 'boys' on, as if following an especially heated sports derby in progress. This first period of gain gave rise to that worst of all things: hopeful expectation. When disappointment came, it hit hard. The Hin'in absorbed the force of the Codexian offensive over a period of more than a month, retreating deeper into their portion of Raumeni space, before unleashing a devastating counter-offensive, made up of some two thousand vessels.
A savage spectacle ensued. The Codexians would not accept defeat - and the Hin'in proved unwilling to concede victory. Some five thousand ships battled across six systems, simultaneously, throughout the first half of August. Taken as one compound engagement, it was the largest in human history, bar none. The blood-letting was hideous. Simply indescribable. The humans knew exactly what was at strength, and it gave them preternatural discipline. The Hin'in must have steeled themselves for a decisive struggle, for they did not give. In the end, the extent of the carnage ended the fighting almost by default. The Codexians had lost upwards of sixty percent of the forces engaged. The Hin'in fared better, comparatively, but still lost at least two fifths of their strength during the cataclysmic fighting.
There was no real victor. The two sides were completely exhausted; a pair of punch-drunk boxers deep in the championship rounds, unable to put any power behind their strikes - content to paw at each other pathetically in the endless wait for the bell. There was no more potential for a decisive outcome. The Hin'in took back the systems they had lost, almost as an afterthought, after the Codexians had withdrawn to their bases. But neither side exhibited any will to continue the mortal struggle in an offensive sense. Rest, recuperation and reconstitution was desperately needed on both sides. Plenty of skirmishing followed, thereafter, but no more pitched battle. Now, there is nothing to show the people back home why such sacrifices had been asked of them. The situation is beyond simply 'dangerous'. In the coming weeks, the homefront could veritably explode in discontent. You must handle it very, very delicately.
How do you proceed?
The Barbarian chooses to experiment, in this instance. The voting body will not be asked to make a simple choice between several different options. Rather, you are requested to posit a CLEAR and CONCISE (no more than a short paragraph of less than one hundred words) answer to the above question, as you see it. The Barbarian understands that this invites twenty wholly different responses and a hopeless deadlock. In defusing that potentiality, the Barbarian would ask you to CO-OPERATE with one another to produce joint answers. Whichever one has the most support after a day or two will 'win'.
Alternatively, if we do end up deadlocked (or this simply doesn't function as envisioned), several choices will be presented in the traditional manner, based on the discussion held. The experiment will most likely be discontinued, at that point, and we will return to the standard voting method.