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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 15:58:45 GMT -5
Chapter 1 Eye of a needle How long has it been? 6 maybe 7 hours? Time and distance are equally indecipherable when free-floating in deep space. Engines off, radar set to visual, not even a light to read the control boards. Was the deprivation of senses necassary? Should't a pilot be aware of every detail in his surroundings. Maybe as with all life lessons there was a genius to the madness. A flash of light came off of the north face of the craft, the kind when a plasma engine goes nova. The purplish haze would seem almost beautiful if the meaning behind it would not bring grief. A flash of red that seemed barely out of perception came into view. It flashed three times. Marakov 3 has been killed in action. "Marakov flight this is flight lead, We are engaged tally 3 Serona class fighters reference Marakov 0's east wing." The dimensional display lit up and a cone of red flew out from the side of the blip that represented Marakov 0. A blue sphere went around the blip and all ships caught inside were to power engines and engage. I was just outside of the engagement ring. Marakov 8 and 2 lit up like comets and arced high and low to form a two pronged fork formation with Marakov 0. Another bright flash came off the West wing of the ship. A single blue flash out of perception meant that Marakov lead has engaged another group of enemies. "Marakov flight this is flight lead, 1 Serona class fighter tally 2 Brishna class corvettes reference Lead's north face" When the dimensional display appeared, I was out of the engagement ring again. I could see the muzzle flashes of the Serona fighters. Squat ugly things with a reverse swept wing design that made them deadly in atmosphere. The United Federation of Orion had yet to develope vulcan laser tech. This reduced their range and speed with the weight of solid ammunition but when a thirty millimeter slug slammed into your craft you will sure as hell feel it. It was a ballet of mindless destruction. Purple gas trails chasing the orange fires and punishing them for their hubris. No electronic support meant the sound emulator was offline as well. Perfect silence accompanied the display. A blue light flashed six times. Six meant Marakov 6 has engaged. I am the pilot of Marakov six. "Marakov flight this is flight lead, Tally Fighter screen of 8 approaching Marakov 6" Instinct overpowered the feeling to run, indoctrination was successful as the men with brass fingers would say. Not only did the dimensional display come on in full view but so did the lights, engines, weapons, and sound. It was deafening. It was made all the more overpowering when I heard the screaming of solid fuel engines bearing down from the rear. With a burst of plasma the nose of the craft faced the other way; the fighter screen appeared to be upside down and tilted. There was no true orientation in zero g. One shot was all I had been given to make them disperse otherwise they would rip through me like a shotgun blast. The laser vulcan began it's death knell, the sound like cracking as the glass tubes went from plasma hot to instant cool thanks to the nitrogen cooling vents. Spraying wildly in hopes that their desire to stay alive would make them forget a few stray hits from a laser weapon would just put dents in their craft. It would take precise and concentrated hits to cripple a heavily armoured Serona fighter. The only thing that bought me this much time was the fact that solid ammunition would need time to close at the extreme distances that space battle covered. They dispersed only to make my futile shots even more useless. If they started firing they would create an inescapable crossfire. When your back's to the wall the best direction available is always forward. I gunned the engines spraying plasma runoff wide in hopes to jam their electronics long enough to move to a better position. In training they say gum is as deadly as a bullet because when you go from absolute zero to sub-light the g-forces could cause it to go through the back of your skull. It felt like my jaw was going to burst through my helmet. Pinning the throttle had succeeded in venting plasma and consequently turned almost all of the Serona fighters into steam cookers. I came back around and could see red where clear glass should have been. The sudden heat had caused their blood to flash boil and burst from their skin. It wasn't quick and it wasn't pleasant. The last one was only crippled but could still use it's carbon dioxide thrusters to bring it's guns to bear. The poor bastard's last great struggle was hinging on whether or not his pressure lines had ruptured to the point where he couldn't fight back. As gas began to vent from one of the thruster ports he opened fire with the thirty milimeter vulcan on the nose creating a bright arc of white hot death. He was out of effective range so it was more out of a need to go down fighting than desperation. I whispered a silent prayer, then depressed the trigger, and commended him to oblivion. The first few hits bounced off the reflective armour, then began melting the hull, then shattered the glass, and with a final defiant yell the pilot was torn to shreds from the pressure of heat hitting him at the speed of light. Each pilot is hooked up to his ship, it is a part of him that he will never forget. Retirees keep the ship's cpu like a man would keep his wife's ashes. It is a bond few understand who are not part of it. When the ship recognizes that the pilot has been killed it sends a visible colour spectrum flash in a code that reads out the pilot's serial number. Command vessels have glass domes on their nose so they can detect a pilot's demise at the exact moment of death. To the human eye it is invisible except when there is a high ammount of gas around. I saw the rainbow flash that meant he was dead. It reflected off the ice crystals from his gas ports. Everyone knows what the official story is. Growing up on a navy vessel however, children are told that it's a ship mourning for it's lost partner and the rainbow is it's way of keening. I killed all electronics and resumed floating amongst the dead. I said my apologies to the machines who have been torn from the only one they will know and to the pilots who have been dragged into this war. I watched the drama set before me not knowing it was the beginning of a massive invasion that would tip the balance in this war that has spanned ten generations.[/pre]
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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 16:00:46 GMT -5
Chapter 2 Unto the breach once more
Cramped like lunch meat was the perfect start to being deployed. After running the salt fields of Naran, proving I'm capable with a Helion jump pack, qualifying with scores of weapons, it all amounts to being crammed into a breaching ram of a frigate. 20 of us on the upper deck, 30 in the middle, and 15 on the bottom deck. Fireteams of five blah blah blah all the usual beaurocratic bullshit. How many boots can you get on the enemy ship and how effective can you make them sounds good in a budget meeting amongst brass fingers, but when you have nothing between you and vacuum but an inch of steel and an atmosphere suit covered in armour it all counts for shit.
The only view afforded to me was the sight of random bursts of gunfire mingled with explosions. I never understood the appeal of space combat. As children we are given the dribble about how fighter pilots get the females and the Captains get the medals and fat pension. I imagine the poor slot who got command of the vessel ferrying testosterone and guns didn't see this one coming when he was sitting in a class on tonnage and g-forces back home. Charging the breach guns blazing and glory waiting, now that was a fight a man could die in. The kind of death that would be sung in the war memorials.
I was one of the lucky few on the bottom deck. The reason a compartment made for 19 men isn't holding twenty like the top deck, is because our deck is responsible for capturing systems and engines. The middle deck is in charge of destroying weapons and barracks so they needed more muscle. The top deck was filled with marines who were the cream of the crop. Men who proved so badass that they get to take the bridge and kill the command crew. They get all the fancy toys and "classified" know how to get paid figures that my mind couldn't comprehend. I thought it was just glorified wet work.
The initial fighter screens that were sent to probe their defenses were getting ripped apart. That's ok though, once the fight got up close and personal the soldiers of the Feudal States were about as deadly as a Nobleman with a sharp stick versus a tungsten rail round. Their fancy laser vulcan tech was deadly in space but in an atmosphered environment it was diffused by oxygen and moisture. It also couldn't be scaled up or down. No massive laser batteries or soldiers with laser assault weapons just a medium sized weapon that could irritate a larger vessel. They believe themselves so high and mighty they forgot how to use simple explosives aside from missiles. It was all barbaric according to them. So capital ships bristled with guns and looked like a lizard with movable spines. Soldiers had simple steel armour that couldn't stop a well placed pistol round, and basic laser rifles that had to be hand charged after every shot.
Waiting for the tow cables to fire left a man with plenty of time to pour over details of his enemy. Sometimes it made him seem cartoonish and sometimes it made him seem monstrous.
The distinct thump told us that the tow cables had fired and magnets had latched onto the enemy vessel. The fun part was about to begin. The man in the middle of the compartment began spewing orders to his fireteam. We all were in digital camo of dark green, black, and orange. His squad was decked in light blue, grey, black, and white. They'll be the first to fall. That's the price that came with the fancy augmetic brass finger on the commanders right hand. Everybody knew who to shoot at.
The tightening of the shoulder restraints was the sign that the compartments thrusters were ready to fire. The medic on my fireteam was lurching and about to throw up when they did. When the thrusters kicked you could see the look of shock as a chunk of ration shot through his spine. The first casualty of the battle was due to a poor bastard getting brained by his own vomit. The next part is where it stops being fun. The impact made it feel like my skull was getting pulled out from my face. Inertia dampening helmets my ass. The front part of both compartments of an Assault frigate are directional charges that can blast through 10 feet of proto-quartz. The ships hull was only 3. When they fired it felt like an artillery round hitting to close for comfort. The compartments then fired gel to create an airtight seal so we wouldn't get spaced trying to breach. Restraints released and doors open.
"Unto the breach you dogs!" yelled our fearless leader.
When we charged through the hull we were greeted just as courteously as we had entered. It takes 3 shots from a laser rifle to drop a man, 1 to destroy his reflector plate, 1 to melt his armour, and 1 to turn his insides to ash. The first volley that met us killed 6 men. 18 men were watching this hall and were damn good shots each. I jumped behind a crate full of spare parts. Having automatic weapons made them mince meat against a full squad. I had moved out of cover and began to move forward when another group had taken a knee behind the first. I opened fire with my breaching rifle. It was a shortened version of an urban assault rifle but fired a massive cartridge to make sure whoever was on the other side would regret being there. The man who commanded this fire line had a decorative sword of mica and was caught by my response to his earlier rudeness. I had missed 3 of my five shots but the two that hit splattered his brain on the wall.
I believe they took offense to this and fired at me. I ducked behind a door as the smell of burning steel filled my nose and the room suddenly became hotter. I popped out from cover and returned fire as they hand-charged their rifles for another volley. Their armour had saved most of them but a few were down when I had to return to cover. My fireteam finally caught up and we exchanged with them until they decided to run off. While they may be unflinching in the face of automatic fire, they knew when to fold and run.
"You think they'd have found a way to make the thing auto-charge?" said Sanchez, the team's demolitions expert. "Whatever reason they have I'm just grateful they can only stand still to fire" replied Chrispy, our fire lead. while we contemplated why they didn't bother equipping their infantry better, the radioman, whom we called Dirt, took a knee and copied what was coming over comms. "Fireteams on bottom decks - Objec revised, cripple behemoth, behead serpent." "Behead serpent?" asked the demo. Chrispy went pale when he heard the orders. "We're being redirected to kill the command crew." I began to understand what those orders implied. "That means the upper deck teams have been wiped out." We all looked at the command elevator that was used to ferry command crew seperate from the rest of the crew and knew that it was the only way to the command deck. Sanchez went pale "I bet that things wired to blow, It's what I'd do"
"You'd wire your sister to blow if she didn't blow so well herself, now lets go." with that attempt to lighten the situation we began moving on.
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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 16:03:07 GMT -5
Chapter 3 Fall of the Verona
When the elevator doors opened we were greeted with the usual complement of gunfire and swearing.
"Sanchez! Demonstrate how shrapnel works to our hosts." I guess his name was really Sanchez afterall. He pulled one of the more sinister looking grenades from his belt and with a heave ho tossed it down the hall. The gunfire was replaced with several shouts of 'oh shit' which were drowned out by the sound of a pop and metal bouncing off metal. When the only sounds coming out of the hallway were men groaning and dying I ventured to pop my head out for a peek. It was a gorey mess but it was a welcome sight.
"Closenuff, watch the rear. Sanchez leave anybody following us a present. Dirt on point." I was named Closenuff because I was always just barely off when it came to qualifications. This meant I carried a machine rifle outside of ship to ship combat.
We moved as steathily as four lumbering jackasses in heavy armour could. A group of rifleman appeared behind and in front but, thanks to the traps Sanchez left lying around, the rear group quickly became greasy stains on the ceiling. We jumped to cover and returned fire. These guys had more focused rifles and their armour could stop a bullet.
"Switch to frangibles!" Frangibles broke apart on impact which means tiny bits of metal would ricochet into the crevices of their armour. We were going to slowly shred them to death. When we were all loaded Chrispy called the order and we returned fire until they all fell over clutching various parts of their bodies. As we moved we put each one down with a shot in the neckguard with our breaching shotguns.
"Aside from the usual muscle, this place is lightly defended" observed Dirt.
"Maybe the hardass primadonnas took care of it?" piped Sanchez
"Cut it, these bastards might get the drop on us if they hear you two shooting shit." and with that we moved silently until we reached the bridge. Sanchez noticed the ladders next to the double blast doors and figured that the high ground wouldn't hurt. We moved on the maintenance catwalks above the bridge and noticed that the entire command crew were at their posts as if nothing had happened.
I didn't like any of this "This reeks of bullshit."
No sooner had I said that did our comrades in arms decide to try and bust through the front door. They looked like something out of an old spy movie. All black gear with full assault weapons and special weapons. The commanders of each fireteam had at least three brass fingers apiece. When I looked closer I realized they weren't attacking, they were running. As if it came straight from hell, a Feudal Paladin eviscerated the rearmost SF soldier.
We all heard horror stories of Fuedal states tampering with the human body. Paladins were myth because nobody ever came out of an engagement alive or sane. The entire squad was pinned in the corner fighting for their lives while the command crew watched on laughing like it was good sport. When the blood mist settled the platoon commander stood defiantly against the blast glass of the bridge.
He drew his sidearm "Orion will not bow!" and was cut to ribbons before he hit the ground. I looked at my squadmates and each one was thinking the same thing. How are we supposed to kill that thing?
In a stroke of genius or madness I grabbed the directional charge on Sanchez's belt and threw it at the blast glass. I was expecting to be yelled at or worse shot and cut apart. Instead Chrispy started scrambling away yelling at us "Run like hell!"
The Paladin gazed at us with it's black viewing slit where it's eyes should have been. It was clad in armour that bore a striking resemblance to ancient Earthling Templar armour. Though the cross was replaced with the halberd that represented their coat of arms. It was beginning to turn when the charge punched a fist sized hole in the glass. Blast glass can survive many things but once it becomes compromised it shatters easily. The entire window blew out and pulled the Paladin with it. Without an atmosphere suit it would hopefully die out there. The maintenance door slammed shut but the double blast doors were still open. The command crew were clutching various consoles and machines knowing their fate was sealed.
The entire deck was being spaced, instead of panicking we turned on our magboots and sealed out atmo suits. It began to get quieter and quieter with the loss of atmosphere. Eventually the room was filled with silence and every officer in the bridge was dying or dead. The ship was crippled and had no chain of command. It was time to board the Assault frigate, go back, stock up on ammo and supplies, grab a bite, and do it all over again. Instead fighting ceased in the other capital ships and they began to turn tail. We didn't know it at the time but the ship we just boarded was the Verona, and her captain was the son of the Feudal lord of the neighboring region. He was still floating in the bridge when we left. This war just got uglier for us.
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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 16:05:29 GMT -5
Chapter 4 Flight of Icarus
"Marakov flight this is Marakov lead, Flagship compromised provide cover to fleeing ships. Board carriers when out of ammo or fleet has escaped. God speed."
Wasn't a Paladin guarding the bridge? How could even a squad of Death Marines have eliminated an entire security cordon? No time for questions, medical ships and supply ships take priority. Fighting vessels were no good without care or food. I powered all systems to full, when this was over the lost fuel efficency would be inconsequential. The nearest medical vessel pinged on the dimensional display and I flew towards it until I was inside it's engagement ring. Procedure be damned. Two blocky frigates are chasing a Med cruiser known as the Angels Sanction. Both are firing tungsten rail guns at the ship's main holding bays. They didn't care about the ship they wanted to kill the infirmed so they couldn't fight again. I am shocked, shocked that they would stoop to killing the wounded and dying out of convience. My hand pushed the throttle forward. Weapons began to target the bridge. Depressed the trigger, and listened to the cracks that would end this evil.
Anti-fighter cannons spun up and began desperately firing at me. It was like dodging bubbles blown by a child. They sometimes came close but never close enough. All the while the laser vulcan began melting away the bridge. Every hit shot off sparks of molten metal. It resembeled a sparkler children played with back home.
Escape pods began firing off towards the nearest command vessel. They ran like cockroaches when poison fills a room. The first frigate floated dead in the water, doomed to be one of the thousands of floating husks that would drift for eternity. The second frigate wanted revenge and was determined to take it. It broke off from it's attack to bring it's broadside to bear. This meant it would have missiles at its disposal now. Time slowed, senses became numb and the world seemed to go quiet. Hundreds of white vapor trails came off the side of the Destroyer class frigate. I pinned the throttle moving at an angle that would put me below the frigate when horizontal distance reached zero on the display. The missiles flew overhead and began the long arc to come back around.
Soft jazz filled my ears. Medical vessels played relaxing music to help calm down incoming casualties and the men who cared for them. It was an ancient song but it was fitting. "Come fly with me let's fly, let's fly away"
With a violent jerk I pulled the nose high and flew past the broadside of the frigate. An equally powerful jerk leveled out the ship and brought myself a hand's breadth from the bridge. I don't know if they could see me but I could see them. Large chested brutes with tarnished brass on their right hands wearing the simple green fatigures of an Orion officer. The look of shock is one I will cherish forever.
"Rot in hell."
As the closing note hit so did hundreds of Axiam missiles. Meant to burst into a ship's hull before exploding. There would be no survivors, she would burn from the inside out, and it would be a fitting preface to eternity. I let the blast wave push me away the same way a mother would shoo away a child when there were chores to be done. The bright white letters on the side read 'FOV Vitrion'. It was always hard to remember that those men and women had lives, but the feelings of guilt were quickly put at ease when a capital ship came out of Faster than Light travel to the east wing.
"Marakov 6, thank you for the assitance we're engaging beam jump. We are rendevouzing at Terros don't be late."
It seemed as if the entire ship elongated and turned into a beam of light. With a crack that was indescribable, she sped off towards the fourth planet of the ninth star. Orders dictated I return to the carrier. I have already acted out of turn for disobeying procedure and not flying with a partner. The feeling of pure rage overpowered all things. I will kill this ship.
Our fleet was jumping all over the sector and being instantly replaced by Orion vessels. It was a power play the likes of which has not been seen since the opening shots of this war.
"Marakov 6, this is Marakov lead, get back to the FSS Matriarch now!"
"Marakov lead, this is Marakov 6, I'm going to run commissioned field tests of the Lance weapon system on a target of oppurtunity."
I was waiting for my ship to be remoted back to the carrier and the appropriate court marshall to take place when the comms clicked back on.
"Make sure your test monitors are on and reach a safe distance before impact of Lance weapon. Make it quick."
I have just received the go ahead to test a weapon of mass destruction in a vulgar display of power to another. This was going to be the biggest firework I've ever played with.
The problem with Orion intelligence is they believed we are incapable of scaling up or down laser tech and they are mostly right. Laser tech can't be scaled down. I moved as close as I had the courage to, seeing as how this ship had tonnage that could put small planets to shame. With a flip of a switch the laser vulcan detached and began drifting away. An aparatus that resembled a rail gun began to move into place. Contact warnings began to blare as an entire fleet's worth of fighters began coming down on me. It split open and began charging. If a metal slug can be accelerated to ludicrous speeds to became lethal, why couldn't heat and pressure? With a roar that sounded like a jet turbine, the lance fired. The concentrated beam immediatley began to eat away at the hull. Once the hull was breached it cut like a hot knife through skin. The reactor core was an obvious target and went nova after a single shot.
"Let them scratch their heads and piss themselves over this one."
Rounds began pinging off my ship and it was time to retreat with extreme haste. Hard reverse saved my life and they gave up pursuit when they realized I was rejoining an entire flotilla. Two can play at this game Orion.
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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 16:08:33 GMT -5
Chapter 5 Politics and Dog Fights
Fighter pilot barracks were nothing short of luxury hotels. Large desks with tools to calculate the math required to function a fighter in space, the fastest net connection this side of the galaxy, and absolutely nothing for entertainment. Every book on the shelf was about theory or history. Pilots were prohibited from smoking as the weakening effects to the structure of the lung could cause it to collapse at high speeds. All the alcohol in the mess was so weak a mouse would be yelling at the barkeep for a refund. So what was a bored killer to do? The only thing he knew, go to a pit fight in the engine room.
Light travel was horrendously dull and not having a method to unwind was dangerous. Fighter pilots rarely ventured below decks; we were considered the useless blue-bloods of the Fuedal Navy. We are never trained in hand to hand because it it is generally accepted that you won't survive being shot down. I passed riflemen who gave me the usual look of scorn that I've grown accustomed to. Most carried the scars of having to stand in a straight line while the enemy used their most sadistic methods of killing.
I finally came upon the maintence shafts that would lead me to where I wanted to go. I wandered until I noticed a rather large gentleman was guarding a very random door.
"Ah the prodigal fighter pilot returns!" His name was Ly. He was every bit of the definition of an asshole.
"How's the fights today Ly" He looked like I had asked him about the weather, during a blizzard.
"Men twice as big and twice the man as you Marakov"
"I have a name Ly" He smiled thinking he had gotten a rise out of me. If he had he would be on the ground with his nose jammed into his brain.
"Ah but we're not allowed to know remember. You've got a brass finger jammed so far up your ass you forget that I don't have the security clearance to know your real name."
I wanted to gouge out his eyes, pull out the bit of brain that made him stupid and piss on it. Instead I smiled and walked through the door.
The wet thud of a fist performing dental care was a welcome one. It was a ring of soldiers with nothing better to do than beat the piss out of one another. I wondered how they got away with it when I noticed the familiar glint of an officer's mark. Platoon Commander Petrikov was leading this orgy of aggression and pent up rage. He was the type of man who believed that you couldn't fight alongside another man unless you nearly kill him. "What's this? A brittle boned, limp dicked, space born, blue blood come to crash our party." They all looked like they wanted to kill me, chop me up, and throw me out the airlock via the septic system.
"Just looking for something to clear my mind with. I figured a little healty competition amongst comrades would make my evening enjoyable." It was the god honest truth, I just hoped they believed me. The largest of them, I believe they called him 'The Wall' came up to me. He towered over me by a head and had a meaty fist the size of my face. A grin spread across his face that not even a mother could love. He wrapped both arms around me and gave me a bear hug that could have crushed the hull of a fighter.
"Blue call me Comrade!" This was the kind of bad joke I thought only bad writers used.
"If Dumber than a wall likes you I guess you can lose your smokes 'n rotgut like any of us." Oh shit. I didn't smoke or drink.
"Or in light of your 'higher rank' we'll bet the usual if you put creds up for grabs." The looks on all their faces told me that if I bet real money they would beat me within an inch of death but if it meant I could get in the ring then what the hell.
"1000 cred chit says I can take on anybody here." It was pocket change in comparison to what I made but to them that was enough to spend the rest of their deployment wasted.
"Tiny! show our guest here what the best of us can do." A man came from the back of the group smoking a nic stick. He had a mica mask. He was an immortal. I believe I just bit off more than I could chew. We stepped into the impromptu ring and assumed stances.
I figured I could take the guy, though what do I know he has only seen more close and personal combat than I knew actually happened and the most I ever got was shadowboxing in front of a mirror between flights. He began jumping spinning and acting as badass as he looked. I took a deep breath and took an orthodox stance. When He charged me I put up a palm strike aimed for his face. He swatted it away off handedly and the last thing I remember was his foot meeting my temple.
When I woke up it was to the sound of laughter. I didn't know whether or not they thought it was awesome I tried or because it was the funniest damn thing they had seen in a while. Either way I chuckled to myself stood up and gave up my credit chit. He accepted it graciously patted the side of my face and spun kicked me in the head again. When I woke up again the room was mostly empty as we were about to come out of light jump in a couple of days which means they all had to report for drills and fitness of duty tests. Petrikov was still in the room and helped me up.
"You gave the boys a good laugh there and you took it like a man. You're welcome back anytime we're jumping. Just try to start small, while you may be deadly in zero g, in here we are at home. In our element so to speak. Here." He handed me a couple of bottles of cheap Terronian brandy and a pack of nic sticks. That night I got wasted for the first time in my life and developed a smoking habit.
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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 16:17:36 GMT -5
Chapter 6 Drop'em like Liquid
I was still peeling skin off my left side. When that damn capital ship went nova it gave off enough radiation to give me a sunburn. Now military intelligence is running in circles with a blindfold on trying to figure out just what the hell happened. If reports are to be trusted a single Lance Blade had used a modified laser weapon to kill a ship in a single shot. It was enough to leave a man an anxious shell of what he used to be. Every time a shooting star passed into view I'd jump and scream thinking the end had come for me.
Every since our encounter with a Paladin we had been questioned, quarantined, and promoted. Not to the Death squads though, we could have marched to Earth and killed the Emperor with a toothpick and still not be special enough for them. Chrispy refused the Brass augment saying "If a sharpshooter sees that glint in the moonlight, he's going to shoot at it." I preferred the version he told us "If you don't want it shot don't stick it out." "Reaching Drop apex in 30 seconds."
No down time, not even a smoke break. We received our commendations via comms and were being sent to join a prong of the invasion set to capture an Eden planet. It was a habit of the Feudal States to scorch entire planets if it meant we couldn't have it. Pushes were being made to capture resource planets before they were cracked. They had scuttled their Shipyards and fuel depots first. That's why we brought mobile shipyards and refineries. The one thing we can't make self sufficient is food, fuel, and metal. So we drew the short straw to be the first wave.
"Reaching drop apex in 15 seconds."
"Weapons check Necromancers." Our designation went from 135-6 to the Necromancers due to the fact we killed a Paladin. I thought it sounded like something that a neckbeard came up with browsing the nets. Then again they were also the type to be able to test their way into Game and Theory to become the kind of officers who stared at maps. The kind that didn't understand that more was needed to win a battle than positioning some fancy plastic soldier on a dimensional display. Other than that I liked the name.
"Dirt, loaded"
"Sanchez, loaded"
"Closenuff, loaded"
"Chrispy locked and ready to rock"
We hadn't received replacements yet so our medic spot was filled by the cumbersome pouch on our sides.
"Drop in 5 seconds, gods be with you"
We were strapped in a pod being carried by a Brishna Corvette. They Would fly in a screen to appear to be hunting frigates. It looked like a tank modded for space flight, a rectangular body with a medium sized turret meant to disable a frigates systems wile having enough armour to make laser vulcans bounce off harmlessly. Unless of course it was hit with an Axiam missile, then they were completely screwed.
The holding pins popped and we began our descent. While a breaching ram was fun, this was the best ride I have ever been on. If you don't count the fact that the sky was alight with enough anti-air fire that a fly couldn't buzz safely. A stray round would hit us but unless it was a concentrated burst the metal would cool quickly and be just as effective as it was before. Now that we were entering atmosphere helped ensure that they would have to get lucky to hit anything that was so far away it had to be tracked with radar. The Landing Pods that were falling with us were heading towards a different staging area. We were being sent for big game as we had proven we had enough dumb luck to be good at it. Our weapons were different this time around. I carried a Felix 60 Machine gun which looked like a long rifle with a giant box magazine. Sanchez carried a MXC-1 shotgun and enough explosives to level a planet. Chrispy had a Stallion N-5 carbine rifle and had his helmet equipped with Digital Display lense. Dirt carried a hunting rifle from his home world. Real wood furniture with stamped metal parts. It had an old world charm that only a hunting rifle made for ravenous bears the size of dogs that hunted in packs could have.
"Impact in 10"
This part sucked more than when the Boarding ram hit. We went from terminal velocity to absolute zero in seconds. It felt like I was being crushed by the weight of my own skull. Doors shot off discouraging any would be ambushers from getting close. Laser rounds pinged off the shell of the landing pod and we ran to the nearest burnt out building. The gravity here was a bit off from home. I couldn't tell how but I didn't have the time to ponder. Apparently a group of riflemen had thought the same thing and were waiting with arms wide open for us. I tripped over the first one while Chrispy barreled through the second. Dirt impaled the third one with a bayonet while Sanchez put a fist sized hole in the last. I was rolling with the first who gave up once he realized his friends were dead. Chrispy pulled out his knife and started pressing it through the poor guy's cheek.
"Spill it you Feudy bastard, Where are your buddies with the brass fingers?" He promptly spit in Chrispy's face. chrispy replied with a hammerfist with the knife's pommel to his front teeth. He wasn't pretty anymore after that. He put the point of the knife in his gums.
"Tell me before I start gouging out teeth!" I had moved to the window with bipod set watching the landing zone. Sanchez set traps at the door and Dirt stood in the corner with a nic stick.
I noticed heads bobbing in the distance. "Hey we got a squad of them, looks like a fat cat's with them can't tell." Dirt pulled out the old glasspiece that acted as his rifle's scope. it looked ancient but that meant if electronics went down he was still deadly.
"I count 3 brass fingers on his right hand, Leuitenant by his ribbons. He might have some Idea." Chrispy jammed his knife into our prisoner's eye and started giving orders as he cleaned the viscera off .
"Closenuff put'em down with suppressing but don't kill the officer, everybody else is fair game. Sanchez pop smoke once they've hit cover. Dirt pick off the grunts Closenuff misses. I'll be right back with him." He screwed on a silencing rod and hopped out the window.
"I'm glad he's my friend because even if he's just my CO I think he'd kill me" added Sanchez. We all nodded our agreement and started our little show. I sighted a grunt who was leaning against a piece of masonry looking bored out of his skull. I quickly fixed that when his skull, and the rest of him for that matter, blew apart in the inital burst.
They scrambled swearing and firing off in random directions. In urban combat we had every advantage, stealth, automatic weapons, explosives. This was going to be easy. Dirt hit two in the throat and they went down while sanchez was prepping a smoke charge. He was tying a stun grenade to it so when the smoke went off the stun charge would daze them. He was a clever bastard when it came to explosives.
The improvised concussion charge flew over my head and hit one of the officer's escort in the chest. The blast broke every rib in his torso. He slumped over dead from a broken heart. When all that was left was our brass buddy, Chrispy was behind him. With a punch that would drop somebody twice his size, he broke his right arm and pulled him to the ground. Face first of course. We created a diamond formation and pulled him back into our bombed out hovel that became more and more inviting as the bombs fell. "He's out colder than closenuff after a few shots of Huntsman" Dirt remarked.
"Yeah but I don't think he's going to be hugging and weeping about how much he loves you guys here in a minute." I reminded him.
Dirt took his nic stick and held the smoke close to our new friend's nose. Apparently the man was so in love with the idea of a smoke that he perked right up and reached for his sidearm. When his finger was about to unbutton the latch he took stock of his situation and realized he would be a nice idea on the floor before he even drew.
"I see that even the most brutish of fighters are still good for something." He had the sneer of a man born into money and had his ass wiped with silk slaved over by men like us. It took us the better part of five seconds to come to the conclusion that we did not like him.
"Way I see it feudy you have two options, let us carve you up for shits n giggles, or give you over to our fearless leaders so you can clink fancy crystal glasses and buy your freedom with information." Chrispy could have sold me a new aircar with the way he laid out deals.
"Call me feudy again and I guarantee you I'll-" He was about to finish his witty reply when Sanchez put a breeching rod in his mouth.
"Let me rephrase my offer. We can kill you and complete part of our objective or we you can tell us where the command post is for this city and you can walk home to your godforsaken planet."
He began sweating like a whore in church. Apparently his own life was worth more than an entire command network and he pointed to the map in a pouch on his belt. Jackpot. Chrispy grabbed the map and handed it to Dirt.
"How detailed is our key to victory Mr. Dirt?"
"So detailed that there are latrine trenches marked on this map."
"Tits, now boys fingers and ears are the trophy of the day. Have at him."
He tried to let out a blood-curtling scream as we descended on him with our survival knives and pulled each of his brass fingers off and stowed them in our pockets. We each pulled off a knuckle and gave it to Chrispy as tribute. We were going to live up to our name.
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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 16:21:00 GMT -5
Chapter 7 Clipped Locust
Eden Worlds across the sector were under siege, as was to be expected. They still held onto the belief that we would burn our planets if they were to fall. This method of warfare hasn't been used in centuries though, because planets that can sustain human populations are much too rare these days.
"Markov flight, this is lead. Orders are to escort troop transports coming out of light travel so they can land on the planet. Brishna Corvettes have been sighted moving in hunting screens followed by Destroyer Frigates."
What he failed to mention was the Corvettes were likely dropping troop pods on the planet but I wasn't in the mood to correct him. My head was killing me and I swear to the gods I will destroy this radio if it beeps at me one more time.
"Markov lead, this is Six. What are our rules of engagement for frigates?"
"Six, if you are equipped with Axiam missiles you are free to engage frigates at will."
I had two missiles on the prongs of my Lance. This means I can kill one if I get lucky, two if they're unlucky. Brishna's had to be destroyed by blowing out the engines in the back. The only problem with this method, is the turret can still track behind the ship and it has a vulcan for this very reason. They were tricky bastards but they were also extremely slow compared to even Serona fighters. They made up in firepower and armour.
"Flight this is lead, tally two friendly frigates leaving beam jump."
Two bright flashes of light appeared in front of our flight and began a hard burn to the eden world. I would much rather be fighting against the fleet stationed behind the moon, but that type of maneouver warfare was best left to veteran pilots. We were rough dogfighters plain and simple.
"Flight this is lead, Tally 8 Brishna corvettes and 1 destroyer frigate. Scatter small craft and destroy ship."
Fighters that didn't have axiam missiles spun up guns and began to harass the corvettes. Marakov 8 was the closest to the destroyer so it was his kill. I settled for the Corvette which had slipped by the rest and moved to take his six. The main turret began tracking the troop transports while the under-slung vulcan began tracking me. It opened fire with the main cannon and grazed the transport. The round had gouged out a trench along the east side of the ship and began spacing what appeared to be a storage deck. Atmospheric gel sealed out the atmosphere but a large ammount of cargo had been lost. Armour and weapons could easily be replaced on field but ammunition and food couldn't. The crew member manning the vulcan wasted no time in catching me off guard and opened fire.
The first burst clipped the west wing and spun the craft with the sheer inertia behind each round. I leveled out and let out a string of hurtful words that the crew of the corvette would never hear. I had to act before they got lucky and put a high explosive round into a troop compartment. I opened fire into the middle engine thruster. I got lucky and it caused the fuel to blast, then ammunition, then the oxygen inside the crew compartment. I dared a glance at the directional display and noticed another pair of frigates bearing down from above and below.
Now was the time to pull all the badass I had out of my ass. They must have moved in a vertical heart formation because when vertical distance reached zero they would be directly behind the troop transports. No doubt they would still take pot shots at the transports because now was the time to push their luck if they had any. I pinned the throttle and hoped that the propaganda against smoking was wrong. I noticed it was harder to breath but no integrity had been lost in any of my organs. Except for a few loose teeth which will have to be dealt with if they don't come loose and kill me. I was clenching my teeth harder than I have ever before. Hard brake and a sudden turn caused my ship to move sideways and bring the bottom of the first ship to bear. I fired my first Axiam missile into the part of the ship that should contain the gun magazines. Instead it hit the life support which contained all the oxygen lines for the ship. Windows blew out and parts of the ship began melting from the extreme heat caused by the flash fires. Secondary explosions cooked off the ammo and fuel and she went nova.
Even with the auto shading visor and cockpit glass, the blast was blinding. I took this time to pull off my helmet and pulled out the teeth that felt loose, pushed them into the trash airlock and spaced them. I put my helmet back on and let the ship pump me full of Morphine and a dose of pure caffeine. Dull the pain and kill the drowsiness. I began wondering why I haven't heard any comm traffic. Surley Marakov lead had noticed the two destroyers bringing...Oh shit the other destroyer! I've completely forgotten the other destroyer. I flipped the ship and pinned the throttle towards the white and red blur that I hoped was my target. I felt relieved when it began firing aircraft vulcans at me.
As I got closer I noticed the bow mounted rail gun hasn't charged yet. Both Troop Transports were almost too far for even taking pot shots at and would be in the range of larger capital ship defenses. We would mop up the jump destination and support the next wave. First I had to deal with this destroyer. I lined up the shot and let loose my last Axiam missile. It clipped the bridge and exploded in the east gun magazine. It blew out the east hull but was still moving. The gun crews that were left had explicit orders to harass the enemy as much as possible. All guns on the west face began tracking me and lit up the space between me and it. I began weaving between artillery rounds meant to kill ships. It wasn't difficult but it also left absolutely no room for error. I pulled the nose forward and moved to get behind the gunfire.
I then pulled a U-turn and opened fire into the exosed part of the destroyer. I began moving the gun side to side until the entirety of the ship was white hot and molten metal began floating away. I ventured to go the other side and noticed the outter hull was red hot. The guns were quiet. The crews were cooked alive because the heat had nowhere to vent and the automatic cooling systems had been damaged. Diagnostics began running to try and figure out why comms had gone out. The wing was hit, the receiver had been blown out, and I was also leaking fuel. Auto pilot engaged and the ship began floating back to the Matriarch for repairs. I took a flask from a front compartment and took a slug. This was going to be a long 7 day deployment.
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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 16:23:19 GMT -5
Chapter 8 Raining Brass
The Feudal states believed in the ability to move fast in space but on land they preferrered fortifications. It wasn't an impressive sight, though to a tactical mind it was a nightmare. The command post was situated in an open field with a vulcan laser on each corner of the hexagon shaped wall. This allowed for them to have at least two guns on any major target at any given moment. Infantry would be torn to shreds and vehicles would be reduced to heaps of slag. It's a matter of trying to get lucky with artillery and destroy enough of those vulcans that infantry and armour could advance safely.
Sanchez was trying to speak through a tube of nutrient paste "If we only had a battery of missiles then I could just destroy the inside and be done with it."
Chrispy took a draw from one of his honey cigars "If we didn't have to secure intelligence then we could just order an orbital bombardment. Not to mention we're still going up against a battalion sized force with a trigger happy machine gunner, a sadistic rifleman, a pyromaniac demo man, and one very hungover CO."
Dirt was asleep against a rock and I was cleaning the wax from the caseless ammnunition out of the gas ports.
Dirt jumped awake and reached for the map "I'm f*cking stupid, there's a network or supply tunnels that run around these foothills that go back to the command post."
Chris looked to where he was pointing "Are there any that would lead us as close as possible to the situation room?"
Dirt pointed at a tunnel that was a good two mile hike away. "alright boys, saddle up and lets roll"
It only took us 15 minutes to get there considering the terrain was very up and down. A slab of cement was the only thing out of place in the area where the map indicated where the entrance should be. Rather than wait for a patrol to spot us we decided to announce ourselves in the only way we knew how. Enough plastic explosives to make that tunnel into a ditch. Sanchez laid out the charges then hauled ass back to the pile of rocks we were hiding behind. The explosion rocked our ears and sent rocks the size of our heads flying by faster than a bullet. We emerged from cover towards the breach in the support tunnel. Sanchez jumped in first and put down the dazed riflemen inside. Chrispy went in, then Dirt, and finally me. Sanchez laid out explosives to close the breach in the ground behind us then we had 30 seconds to get as far down as possible.
Sanchez and Chrispy moved with guns forward with Dirt and I bringing rear security. A sharp ringing meant we needed to get behind something fast. A wet thud, followed by the sound of falling dust filled the supply tunnel. Like the scream of a wrathful god, a billowing cloud of dust and heat shot down the tunnel. Sanchez and Chris closed their helmets but Dirt and I put prayer wraps around our heads then donned sand goggles. We practically ran down the tunnel meeting dazed enemies but occasionally ran into an organized firing line. In such a tight space our automatic weapons filled the hall with unforgiving clouds of steel core, copper jacketed slugs. Though when we reached the central tunnel hub they were ready.
When we rounded the last corner a vulcan laser spun up and put our heads down. As Chrispy dived to cover he yelled "Aim for the Plasma generator!" Dirt risked a peek out of the side of the cover he was in. He tossed a rock at my head to get my attention "Shoot the rat bastard at the command console and I'll shoot out the power cables!" I could hardly hear him over the deafening crack of the vulcan so all I heard was shoot, rat bastard, console. Assuming he meant kill the person trying to kill us I was more than happy to oblige. A burst of automatic fire put his head down and even more made him try and get smaller behind his cover. The steel cores in the rounds I was firing punched through the steel plate around his console and turned the controls to a ruined mess of cables. The Vulcan went to auto-tracking and continued to fire at us. Though with the auto settiing it would take longer to acquire targets so we had more room to move if I kept it occupied. With a single determined move Dirt snapped out of cover and put two rounds in the now exposed power cables. The first cut one of the power lines but the second missed and hit the console gunner. With only one line to power the massive ammounts of energy needed, it began glowing white hot then melted until the line broke on its own.
Chrispy dusted himself off and started walking towards the nearest service ladder. "We're in business, they're probably assuming the vulcan did it's job which means we have minutes to get up that ladder and surprise the command squad." We gathered around the ladder watching each of the outgoing tunnels.
Chrispy handed me his rescue cable and winch. "You're going to pop up that ladder and put them all down while we climb up. Shoot to kill and maim." Before I could protest, he clicked it on my belt and with a pop attached it to the lip of the entrance.
"f*ck" was all I could say before it jerked me away from the ground and slammed my head into the hatch. I was hoping it would be more dramatic than me landing with a metallic thud in a room full of people who wanted to kill me and everybody like me.
They looked around to see what the commotion was when my senses came back. With a very loud curse I began firing in a circle hoping to at least suppress them enough to get to cover. I tore the main command squad to shreds while the rest of them began scramble to cover themselves. Sanchez was first up with a phosphorus grenade to melt the door so they were trapped in here with us. With only their ceremonial knives they were like lambs to slaughter by sadistic shepherds.
Chrispy slung his rifle and began scanning documents with a portable image capture device. Somebody had heard all that commotion and alarms began going off around the compound. A knock came at the door and the sound of a very jittery soldier came over the intercom "O-open the door n-now" Chrispy nodded at Dirt who opened the viewing slit and put a pistol round through our new friends face.
"Well boys we're up shit creek without a paddle or canoe." A beeping came from Chrispy's image device meaning central command had received all the images.
Chrispy looked around "Unless they have more demo on them than Sanchez is carrying we can hold here no problem until HQ can give us an out. Weld the tunnel door shut and set up a watch rotation we're gonna live here for a cool minute."
Chrispy and Sanchez propped themselves up in a corner back to back and caught a few hours of sleep while Dirt and I took first watch.
Dirt lit a nic stick and passed it to me after a few drags. So much for in and out.
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Post by invisiblemunky on Mar 13, 2013 16:26:32 GMT -5
Chapter 9 Brishna Cloud "Marakov flight this is lead, command infrastructure compromised, tactical retreat, I repeat, tactical retreat." Reports were coming from the ground that a group of men known as the "Necromancers" had managed to infiltrate the command bunker and wipe out the entire command center. Whoever these bastards were they had to be good at whatever they do. In the event of loss of command we are to retreat to the gas giant, take stock of our situation, and then jump to the nearest defensible planet. Just as last time Medical and supplies take priority. None of our ships were engaged so I stayed docked in the hangar in case any reinforcements were needed. The fuel line was patched up, comms were back on, and the tanks and plasma generator were topped off. The casualties of the ground war began to return to the ship. I wanted to help but it would take too long to unhook me from the ship and besides I was probably the last person any of the infantry wanted to see. Rarely does a pilot get quiet alone time with his vessel. It's a nice feeling just sitting in the cockpit and feel the warmth of the engines on idle through the brain hookup. One pilot in academy said just sitting in his vessel reminded him of cuddling with a lover. It's hard to imagine a fighter as a lover, but in that respect I don't think I would want to fight with anybody else. I chanced a glance at the control room to see if they were goofing off or scrambling. I noticed they were all watching one particular vessel on radar with extreme intensity. The Deck Chief was speaking into a headset when he started issuing orders to the deck crew. "Marakov 6, approaching vessel is not flashing IFF, set up security checkpoint and stop it from getting closer than several hundred kilometers." So much for pleasant down time. The hatch dropped and began to pressurize atmosphere. With a pop my fighter unhooked from the carrier and dropped out of the atmosphere shield. Thrusters pinned to full I was at the checkpoint in seconds. "Unidentified troop transport this is Marakov 6. Flash your IFF code or submit to a visual inspection." The transport looks like it has been through hell so I imagine the IFF has been shot off. It stopped just short of the security checkpoint kill zone and opened its view ports for a visual inspection. With a light kick from the thrusters I moved to its side and turned on the forward lights. There were a few souls inside the compartment but I couldnt see so I moved to the main drop ramp "Please drop rear ramp." It stood still for a few seconds then the ramp dropped. Two Orion soldiers brought machine guns to bear and opened fire on my vessel. With a curse I moved out of the way and the transport took off at extreme speeds to the carrier. Before I could adjust to give chase a black blur emerged on the west of my craft. I moved my nose to track the blur and for a split second saw a stealth Verona. They wanted to destroy the carrier because it is the only vessel they believe has the lance weapon. "Matriarch, troop transport is hostile. I'm seeing stealth fighters but none are showing up on radar mov-" before I could finish speaking a burst of fire took out my engines. In a death spin I could barely see anything. The sound emulator let out a roar like water cascading over a cliff for a split second. It took effort to even move my eyes to look at the display. The Matriarch was no longer on the dimensional display nor was the troop transport. My hands feel like lead as they searched for the eject lever. My hands feel it and break the glass vial that equalizes pressure between it and the ejector jets. All systems wipe and the ship's cpu is placed inside a black box in my seat. A hiss tells me the suit has pressurized and the pop tells me the seat is unlatched. An almost condescending voice goes into my comms. "3" black circles begin swimmin in my vision "2" face going numb from lack of blood "1" brain losing oxygen "broadcasting distress beacon, have a safe trip." Mag locks pull my helmet against the back of the seat so I don't break my neck. Jets fire and I fall out of the bottom of the craft. My head swims as blood rushes back to the brain. Jets fire on retrograde and bring me to a halt. The last thing I saw was 6 red flashes just out of perception. End of Part 1
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