06-30-2018, 07:21 PM
Through the Colonel's eyes little changed over the years. Food could be better, pay used to be better, as well as things to spend it on. And it's still that same, wretched rock out the window...
Joining the Planetform security division seemed like an attractive alternative at the time, considering how ever fewer parties needed sellswords and there didn't seem to be any decent war brewing. One thing you can always count on - fanatical militants, funded by slightly less fanatical hypocrites. No shortage of people who'd pay decent money to help with that.
"So what sort of contract is this anyway?" I asked,
noting how there was neither a kill bonus or a timeframe... just a lot of provisions about information security, equipment and supply. Interesting really, as the employer would cover bed and board, even clothing!. it seemed right, even felt right. Not that I had much of a choice, it was either joining this odd outfit or going back to Liberty, straight into the hands of a number of friendly people who still seem to think I owe them more money than they initially said I would.
"The best you can expect, mister... Skalski, is it?" Replied the uniformed recruiter.
I signed it.
And so started the decade-long 'mercenary' job for a bunch that I have grown to call my own. Even at the earliest stages, there was more to the "Planetform thugs" than met the eye. No other mercenary outfit used the sort of spacecraft they did. Bearing no resemblance to sabres or mantas one would normally expect. They weren't organized like mercenaries either, resembling a quirky, but no less serious navy. Most astonishing however was the fact they had capital ships. Legitimate battleship-carriers, rivaling house dreadnought in size. Where did they get those and how they managed to sustain all that remains a mystery to me to this day. Sea turtles I guess...
Unless you count how hlariously unprepared I was for dealing with regimented life, Flying, my colleagues and the first missions were pleasant enough, Edinburgh was (and still is) a hotbed of Gaian activity. While I could understand them wanting to blast away poachers - why in the world oppose trying to make something out of a lifeless rock? That was also the time the rigid, military command structure became a pain in my neck for the first time. I had a banged up stiletto I had intended to fix come my first paycheck, but the guy in charge of my flight (In the end, a decent guy) had other ideas about what plane I should be using.
"Stinks, but standard" he said.
That standard turned out to be the so-called viper mk I. Not an extraordinary fighter at first glance, but over time, tuned out to have a number of advantages. Compared to what constituted a typical heavy fighter - it was just as agile with a lot more firepower. It was also for some obscure reason less vulnerable to explosive ordnance than Sabres, Titans, anything older. Other parties copied that later... Much later.
A couple weeks passed protecting Pform installations from Gaian raids as well as occasionally lending a hand to the Queen's navy around Cambridge. One mission stands out to this day - we have been ordered to force a number of ships to jettison and destroy their onboard repair-bot canisters. Two complied and that was the end of it. One didn't, all we heard over wireless were the brief pleas of the crew as the ship vented atmosphere and started moving of its own volition. It started firing at us even before Bas... That is Captain Basil Angelos, my CO at the time ordered us to engage. Soon flat, grey fighters came out of nowhere and started shooting us as well, without warning or even a hiss of static uttered. It was brutal. Before our reinforcements arrived and we could finally blow that cargo ship up, we lost two of our own... I can't even remember their names anymore. I asked Bas what those things were and why a civilian crew would commit suicide like that.
"Toasters" - he replied and 'strongly advised' me to forget that fight ever happened. I didn't, but I felt it prudent not to bring it up ever again. What i also found prudent was ddoing some digging, to find out more about my new employers. And the more I learned, the more I felt like I had made a colossal mistake. These weren't thugs or corporate security taking themselves a little too seriously. Sure, some mercenary bands do adopt grandiose titles, ranks and flashy paint jobs, but these "Colonials" bore every appearance of actually BEING a militarized society, working for planetform more out of temporary necessity than as standard MO. A whole nation, complete with symbols, institions and a fleet. Missing some territory and working hard to address that slight issue... My contract, despite the clever phrasing and - granted, very decent benefits - was in fact an act of voluntary conscription.
"I did not sign up for a cult, Bas, I should have some rights, even if I am employed aborad"
"You seem to be sufering from recurring amnesia. I recall needing to explain to you at least twice this week, that there is to be at least one "Sir" contained in every sentence aimed at a senior and/or superior officer. Must I resort to disciplinary action to cure that amnesia?"
"No, sir, but.."
"Skalski, I am holding here a document, do you recognize the signature upon it?"
"I do, sir, it's mine, however..."
"Skalski, I wish I could just weld your ass to a viper, keep you in space where you seem to actually be doing adequately and where I can't hear your complaining about being homesick. I know for a fact you are neither illiterate nor witless, therefore I must assume you joined knowing full well what it is you were doing. That aside, I couldn't discharge you even if I wanted to and I almost do... The Galactica will be redeploying shortly. My advice is you wrap up your affairs in Edinburgh... and store whatever booz you can instead of drinking it. Dismissed.
Sound advice. Not because I needed to drink that much, though I kind of should have...
The whole Fleet (with a capital F) just up and moved to Tau-31. Perhaps not far in terms of sailing distance, just a jumphole away, but the contrast between Edinburgh and Tau-31 couldn't be more drastic. Edinburgh sports the usual, though not as filthy Bretonian red background, while Tau-31 is white. Totally, absolutely, inescapably WHITE. The star is surrounded by a sphere-belt of water ice, which reflects a good deal of sunlight. That ice is what Leeds desperately needs, having pissed away whatever clean water they had, building up like mad. And of course...
That rock.
It was my first date with Harris and the Taus in general. Having worked for shady people around Liberty before I did expect trouble, but comparing the odd Xeno ambush to dealing with the Maltese is like comparing hillbillies in armed cropdusters to Navy top guns on drugs. We started in good spirits and decent, newly-manufactured gear.
The mk II Viper, sleeker and more importantly - not as worn-out as the Mk I the Colonials brought in from their previous homeworlds in Crayter was likely what prevented me from becoming a crystallized red smear on a random bit of ice. Not quite as agile as the mkI, sporting the same weapons and explosive shielding, but compensating with improved structural integrity and ease of maintenance, the Mk II was a pleasure to fly and a sight to behold. The paint scheme, though largely superflous against LADAR, was actually a boon in Tau-31, where it was easier to overlook against the ovewhelming whiteness in close-range dogfighting. A perfectly valid and sometimes effective tactic I'd use was to simply switch off and settle down on the sunny side of some ice block in wait as the boss attracted attention. A few Gaians are surely grateful now for being returnined to nature as inorganic matter. The Maltese however weren't anywhere near as easy... Despite receiving mk II vipers, we were getting hammered. The way we fought there initially did not really change to this day. They have the better sticks, but sometimes there's more of us. We did our best, bled better still, the Harris project was progressing or so I thought. I didn't care very much about any picture bigger than a centerfold at the time. The bigger picture however, in hindsight was a pretty grim one. One conversation with Angelos comes to mind...
"This here is going to be my swamp, Jack"
"Bas, You do realize, that it's called a desert, right? Swamps usually contain water"
"Sss...?"
"Oh Fine, SIR."
"Better. This won't always be a desert. There's thousands just waiting to settle in"
"Leeds, right? can't stand breathing in their own poinson, eh... B...Sir?"
"What gave you the idea it's Bretonians... Never mind"
"If not Bretonians, then who sir? I mean, it is a Planetform operation?
"Don't you have a viper or woman who'd need some attention?"
it took me until the next day for the significance of Angelos' words to sink in. or more like hammer in. That was the first time we actually saw the Colonial head of state live on pict. More significantly, we heard him. Not a charismatic man by any length or impressive-looking. With that odd accent I sometimes heard used by the more senior fleet officers, he informed us, that the plan to colonize Harris as payment for security service had failed. Planetform backed out. Locking horns with the Maltese and gaians proved a catastrophic waste of life and material. We never knew, Bas never told us, the president however explained, that quote on quote:
"Planetform, citing their partner's poor performance, expenses involved and the region's volatility, unilaterally severed relations with the Colonial Remnant, warning that the Bretonian Armed Forces have been called relieve and disarm Colonial Fleet units in Tau-31."
Maybe that's where I started caring a little, I mean - it was a dick move by any measure. Surviving ships had to move fast, before the Queen's men arrived and the only option was to go deeper. We did. I'd like to think, that part reason I'm still breathing is that old Mk II...