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+--- Thread: Neural Net Log - David Ripper (/showthread.php?tid=47854)
Neural Net Log - David Ripper - Commissar - 10-02-2010
31st September
0800 Zulu Time
Planet Pittsburgh, New York
15hr 10minutes after the Delta-3 incident. {Uploading File....Upload complete}
Colonel Hedgeson, Officer Commanding of the Liberty Army's 6th Air division, had himself rather a difficulty. One of his freighters had been shot down en-route to Hudson, and with the strain on resources bought on by the war every loss was a blow. Worse yet; It had been shot down by a fighter type frequently used by the Liberty Navy. Hedgeson had since received numerous messages from Naval forces denying responsibility for the vessel. It was a bloody administrative nightmare; the paperwork alone would be enough to keep him in the office all week. Still; it seemed the crew had made it off Delta-3 before its destruction. He'd received a transmission from the Battleship Missouri explaining some of the situation. The Commanding Officer of the Missouri had also been kind enough to return Hedgeson's troops to him; via a transport convoy.
A sharp knock at the Colonel's door returned him to the present.
'Come in' Hedgeson boomed. Once an Enlisted man, he'd never lost the distinctive voice that came with commanding a formation. Although now consigned to a desk job, Hedgeson still had a preference for yelling over mere speech.
A Lieutenant stepped into the doorway; saluting as he did so.
'Sir. Transport from the Missouri just arrived. The Delta-3 crew's waiting outside; do you want me to send them in?'
'No need to have them all in here, Lieutenant. Send Sergeant Nerwell in.' Nerwell was an old friend; he'd been in Hedgeson's platoon back when he was a Lieutenant.
'Sir; Nerwell's not with the group. The Missouri only mentioned three survivors and we've got them out there.'
The Colonel's shoulders drooped, a look of shock on his face. He quickly concealed it; they were soldiers damn it. They knew the risks. Still'¦ Nerwell. Much like Hedgeson he was- no; he had been only a few years away from retirement. The war was out on the borders, losses in units assigned there were expected; but to lose someone so close to home'¦ It'd been more than two years since Army personnel died in New York. Hedgeson swept his grief aside. There would be time to mourn later. For now; the survivors were the priority.
'Who's the ranking officer then?' For once; Hedgeson's voice was lacking its characteristic volume.
'Er'¦' The Lieutenant strode out the doorway, reappearing a moment later. 'A Lance Corporal Ripper, Sir.'
'Then send him in.' Hedgeson sighed as the young officer left.
David Ripper was engaged in a mighty struggle. More accurately; his eyes seemed to be closing without his explicit permission. The Lance Corporal had been awake for close to a day; between Delta-3's destruction, interrogation aboard the Missouri and the trip back to Pittsburgh they'd been no time for sleep. Not to mention that Ripper had trouble sleeping in space anyway; the engines always got to him. Now that he was planet side again the exhaustion had finally hit him. Ripper didn't realise he was asleep until a Lieutenant swept into and 6LAAD's processing centre and shook him awake. Without a word the officer helped Ripper to his feet and marched him to the Colonel's office.
Hedgeson returned the Lieutenant's salute; taking note of the battered Lance Corporal behind him. The boy looked like he'd been through hell.
'Thank you Lieutenant.' Recognising the dismissal, the Lieutenant in question turned and quickly disappeared from sight. 'Mr Ripper. Please; take a seat.'
'Sir.' David, with considerable effort, tugged a wooden seat in front of the Colonel's desk before collapsing onto it, staring at something far beyond the confines of the office's walls.
'Lance Corporal; I need a report. Now.' The last word was shouted loud enough to shock the Lieutenant, now in the mess, into dropping his freshly brewed coffee. Needless to say; it jolted Ripper back to reality. The Lance Corporal's back straightened, his eyes focused on Hedgeson. For the first time in what felt like years, he bore a resemblance to the David Ripper of 16 hours ago.
'Yes Sir. We were preparing to take the trade lane to the Hudson jumpgate when it happened. I was below decks checking the Rhino's cargo. Nerwell was up in the cockpit; running navigation. A Navy Guardian, identified himself as a Lieutenant, offered us an escort and we accepted. Bloody mistake that turned out to be.' Anger began to creep into Ripper's voice. 'He fired on us. Delta-3 was a freighter; Sir. Her shields were designed to protect from asteroid strikes.'
'I know about the ship, Ripper, I commissioned it.'
'Regardless Sir; we never had a chance. I got Preston and Callstone to the escape pod'¦ I couldn't reach the Sergeant. There was fire in the cargo deck, the hull was falling apart. Even then we might have been able to save the ship'¦ Then the Guardian hit us again; and I had to eject. A fighter patrol from the Missouri picked us up half an hour later.'
'What else can you tell me about the fighter?'
'Nothing Sir. I barely got a look at it before the pilot fired on us.'
Hedgeson nodded. The Lance Corporal's report reinforced what he'd received from the Navy. He hadn't really expected much more; but rules were rules.
'A shame about Nerwell'¦ He was a good man.' Hedgeson's voice wavered slightly; but maintained its volume.
'That he was Sir.'
'This was your first combat operation Ripper?'
'Nobody ever told me it was Sir. I wouldn't call being blown apart a 'combat operation'.'
The Colonel chuckled; a sound just as deep as his voice.
'What would you define as a combat operation then?
'Something where we can shoot back. I didn't join up for target practice Sir.'
Hedgeson smiled. Had Ripper been more alert; he would have seen something in that.
'You're not going to be doing much to spacecraft in what we fly, son.'
'Where are you going with this Sir?'
'Straight to the point. As you're no doubt aware the Army's doing next to nothing in this war. Our troops are diverted to serve as shipboard marines and planet side guards; but that's it. Any pilots we have get the same treatment. Navy High Command doesn't have the time to sift through the numbers of troops at their disposal. I don't like it; but that's the way it is. The government's got hundreds of pilot's right under their nose; they're just too darn busy with recruiting to see it. ' The old officer scoffed. 'Look Ripper; you've got some flying training. You actually seem to care about Liberty; that's more then a lot do. If you want to do something beyond sit at a desk, I can have your papers on the Navy recruitment desk in 36 hours.'
Ripper grinned. In truth, he'd been planning to file a transfer request after completion of the Delta-3 mission. David's grin faded. Things were different now though, with Nerwell dead, Preston and Callstone were lacking a section commander. Not to mention the effect the Rhino's destruction had had on the trio. You couldn't go through something like that with a person and feel nothing. The Lance Corporal sighed, running his hands through his short brown hair.
'Sir'¦ I'd'¦I want to do something in this war. Any other time, I'd welcome this. Not now though, there's no-one else to look after Nerwell's section.'
'To the contrary Ripper; I've got more officers then I know what to do with. One of them could easily take over. The Lieutenant who bought you in here? His platoon was reassigned to the Mississippi two weeks ago. He's not a unique case, Lance Corporal. There's at least a dozen in a similar position. If you take that position in the Navy; your section will be looked after. You have my word.'
'Could they come with me, Sir?'
'That's their decision, Ripper. I'll talk to them later today.'
Ripper was silent for a long time.
'Very well Sir. Send those files.'
The Lance Corporal stood and turned to the door.
'Oh; and Ripper?'
'Sir?'
'There's a Rhino in maintenance. You won't be able to take her out of Liberty, but if you want to brush up on your flying'¦'
Ripper sighed quietly. It seemed he was destined not to fly a decent ship.
'You've got the rest of the day off. Also, I'll be expecting a full report on my desk by 1300 hours tomorrow.'
'Yes, Sir.'
The Lance Corporal half stumbled, half marched to the accommodation. He collapsed as soon as he hit the pillow; the light of a dying ship haunting his dreams.
Neural Net Log - David Ripper - Commissar - 10-02-2010
1st October
1200 Zulu Time
Planet Pittsburgh, New York
'Lance Corporal Ripper what a surprise! Welcome to maintenance.' The young woman grinned, flashing brilliant white teeth at the surprised Ripper. 'Colonel told me you might drop by.' she added, seeing the bamboozled look on his face.
'Callstone! What are you doing here?' Ripper chuckled; his customary formality utterly shattered by surprise.
'The usual. Cleaning up your mess.' Callstone laughed, the sound mingling with a crashing noise from the hanger behind her. 'Hell! What was that? C'mon Lance.'
Ripper's retort disintegrated mid-air. Lance. He was certain that wasn't in the protocol manual. He broke into an undignified run to keep up with Callstone as she disappeared into 6LAAD's maintenance hanger.
The building was a mess of cables, hull plating and engines. Only around the edges though; the centre was dominated by a gleaming KingFisher Heavy Fighter. A Private was standing to the left of it; hurriedly retrieving a dropped countermeasure. Callstone winked at him.
'Callstone. Is this a joke?' Ripper whispered, feigning a tear. That was a hell of a ship.
'No joke Ripper. You wanted a ship, you've got one.'
'She's beautiful!' The Lance Corporal managed to prevent himself hugging everyone in the room. Just. 'But what happened to the Rhino?'
'Heh. The O.C's got a sense of humour too ya'know. We keep a few of these babies around for training purposes. With the intakes being what they are'¦.'
Ripper had eyes only for the ship.
'Mind if I take a look?'
'Even better. We've just finished fitting her out. She should be space worthy. Albeit with one less countermeasure then usual.' The last sentence was directed at the Private near the KingFisher, still trying to reload the dropped kit. He promptly gave up, instead pushing a button on a nearby console. The clamps supporting the fighter disengaged; leaving it hovering under its own power.
'How soon can you have her ready to fly Private?' Ripper was grinning ear to ear.
'She'll be on the runway in 10 minutes.'
'I'll be there. Just got a report to drop off.' The Lance Corporal gestured at a slightly crinkled document in his left hand.
'Delta-3?' Callstone was suddenly serious.
Ripper gave a sombre nod.
'Look; there was nothing you could've done. You saw it as well as I did. That fighter came in as soon as we launched.'
'Perhaps. Still; I should've tried. I might have been able to do something, anything! I might have been able to save him.'
'No. Nerwell was dead the instant that traitor fired on us.' The Lance Corporal was already shaking his head. Callstone shrugged her hair, tied back, moving with her.
'Runway 09.' The engineer glanced at her watch. '8 minutes now Ripper.'
Ripper attempted to banish his guilt. He was only half successful.
Still; he had a new ship, David thought in a further attempt to banish his feelings. A KingFisher no less!
He marched to Hedgeson's Office with a smile on his lips. Only he could tell it was false.
Neural Net Log - David Ripper - Commissar - 10-03-2010
2nd October
2120 Zulu Time
Pittsburgh Orbit, New York
The automated voice droned through the speakers of Ripper's helmet.
'Army 4-Bravo you're cleared to launch. Good Luck out there.'
The young man hardly noticed; instead pivoting the KingFisher to face the debris field. A decent spot to practice evasive manoeuvres. She responded wonderfully; the powerful engines smoothly guiding her onto the desired course. He casually flipped the autopilot off. Ripper preferred to fly himself; there was something about flying that helped one let go of land bound worries. Perhaps it was the perspective Ripper mused, glancing back at Pittsburgh; now little more then a dot.
It was Ripper's second flight in the KingFisher and he'd bonded with the sleek fighter immediately. Despite that; even Ripper had to admit, that flying something the size of the KingFisher in the standard Army flack vest was cumbersome at best. It had already caused him to engage the cruise engines once, and he'd nearly been pasted to an asteroid. The Lance Corporal made a mental note to take it off next flight.
As the ship powered toward the field Ripper ran through the standard checks. Shields, functioning. Engines and control surfaces, normal. Scanner and comms, online. Weapons. He disengaged cruise and fired at a nearby asteroid, blasting it to dust. Normal.
Ripper chuckled; it'd been tough to persuade Callstone to mount weapons on the thing, even with Hedgeson's approval. She was convinced he'd end up shooting his wing off. Despite the engineer's qualms the Lance Corporal had persisted. It had payed off; and he was now the proud custodian of a fully functioning strike craft. Even if it was just for training. The weapons weren't military grade; but they were powerful enough. Against a similar class he could expect to down his opponent's shields in a handful of shots. David returned his attention to the ship as they entered the field proper.
The Lance Corporal threw the KingFisher into a sudden roll; pulling blood to his feet and narrowly avoiding a gunboat-sized chunk of metal. He came out of the roll grinning. It was good to be flying again. Up until this week Ripper hadn't flown snub craft in exactly five years. He'd been 19, and at the time the training camp's Starflier seemed like a racer. Since he joined the 6th he'd been restricted to Rhino's and the odd transport. He plunged the fighter into a dive to avoid a derelict repair ship. It didn't matter how long it had been. Flying wasn't something you forgot.
Ripper's train of thought was promptly derailed by the bark of the KingFisher's comms:
'All ships. Code Red. Rheinland Forces! Near the Texas jumpgate.'
David's finger was on the transmitter faster then one would have thought possible. He needed to get his ship there. He directed the transmission back to Pittsburgh; and his flight commander.
'0-Bravo this is 4-Bravo, over.'
'4-Bravo; this is 0-Bravo. Go ahead, over.'
'We've got Rheinland ships in Texas. Requesting permission to engage, over.'
There was a long pause on the other end.
'You're cleared. Be careful 4-Bravo.Over.'
'0-Bravo this if 4-Bravo. Acknowledged, out.'
Ripper gunned the engine; directing the fighter toward the Fort Bust trade lane and Texas.
2130 Zulu Time
Texas ' New York Jump Gate, Texas.
The situation at the jumpgate was sheer chaos. Hornvipers and Vengeances blotted out large sections of the skyline as opposing fighters duelled. Ripper noted the absence of any Capital class vessels; and concluded that they were either en-route or destroyed prior to his arrival. The Lance Corporal spoke quickly. 'Liberty Navy. This is Ripper; do you require assistance?'
Ripper's comms pinged; prompting him to accept a file. He did so. The Rheinland ships were rapidly silhouetted red by the KingFisher's HUD. As far as he was concerned; that was all the permission he needed. The fighters dedicated combat equipment booted rapidly; rangefinders indicating the closest enemy vessel. A Rheinland 'Wraith' bomber. The Army trooper wheeled his fighter into pursuit. It was time to show the Navy boys how it was done.
The KingFisher banked and wheeled; placing the enemy craft firmly in the centre of Ripper's display. The big fighter's powerful engines worked against it now; preventing him from keeping his guns on it for more then a few seconds. Before long the two ships settled into a pattern, neither able to gain the advantage. The bomber didn't have the agility to get behind Ripper; while Ripper in turn, lacked the ordnance necessary to inflict any lasting damage.
In frustration Ripper opened his comms.
'Dammit Rheinlander. Hold still; I'm trying to shoot you here!'The Lance Corporal was surprised when his opponent responded.
'Ja.' It wasn't much, but it gave Ripper time to hit the bigger ship with a burst of fire, downing its shields.
The bomber dived into the centre of the melee; Navy Vengeances missing his hull by what seemed like centimetres. Ripper threw his fighter in after him. The bomber refused to alter his course, pressing on into a storm of fire. What was he doing?
David was distracted by the automated warning system.
'Collision warning. Pull up.'
'What?' The word had barely left Ripper's mouth when he saw the cause of the warning.
Time seemed to slow as the mine detonated.
Ripper saw the KingFisher's left wing torn off; followed by a terrible pain in his left hand. It felt like someone had shoved his hand in front of an engine exhaust. This was followed by a series of lighter impacts on his chest as the windscreen shattered. Secondary screens were rapidly thrown up by the shipboard VI to prevent vacuum exposure. He saw the warning lights illuminating the failing fighter's cockpit; and reached for the gently glowing button labelled EJECT. As the Pod, built into the KingFisher's command deck, launched the pain in Ripper's hand skyrocketed.
The Lance Corporal promptly blacked out.
Neural Net Log - David Ripper - Commissar - 10-04-2010
2nd October
2145 Zulu Time
Battleship Missouri, New York
The Rhino screamed into the Missouri's hangar, barely slowing as it lowered docking clamps. Demonstrating amazing braking power, the craft came to a stop on the battleship's primary landing pad, where a delegation of white clad personnel were waiting for it. As soon as the ship's access ramp touched the ground the assembled medical staff swarmed aboard. They reappeared moments later; pulling stretchers behind them. Amongst the blue-clad patients one stood out. A brown haired young man a little over average height, his once light green uniform separating him from his Navy counterparts. The uniform had lost much of its characteristic green and was instead dotted red; as if the man had been attacked by a mad painter. If one looked closer, they would notice that the blood was concentrated around the man's left arm, clad in a rough bandage. A slightly reddened name tag identified him: Ripper.
A pair of medical orderly's guided Ripper's stretcher through the labyrinthine corridors of the Battleship. Finally stopping at a painfully white door labelled 'Theatre 4'. The lead trooper, a Petty Officer, nodded to the Seaman behind him. The junior soldier rushed forward, pushing the door open. The Petty Officer followed him in; pulling Ripper behind him.
3rd October
1700 Zulu Time
Battleship Missouri, New York
A brilliant white light invaded David Ripper's sleep. He mentally shrugged it off, seeking to retreat deeper into his dreams. The light was persistent though, following him even there. Eventually; in what may have been minutes or perhaps days, Lance Corporal Ripper began to stir. As consciousness returned; so too did the pain in his arm.
Ripper opened his eyes to a sterile, white room. The light that had been such a nuisance was merely a solar strip mounted on the ceiling. Which was; Ripper noted, also white, save for the star of Liberty on the ceiling. Seemed they had a theme going here. As his eyes adjusted to the harsh light the Lance Corporal was able to take in more of his surroundings. He was in a single bed, with the sheets tucked in tight enough to prevent movement without major energy expenditure. With a gargantuan effort the man heaved himself into a sitting position. He was astonished when his left arm failed to move with him, instead staying in its current position, secured to the beds railing. His hand was cleanly bandaged, and a few white patches of skin were visible on his upper arm and chest. A tube reddened by its contents, presumably blood, lead into the same arm. A corresponding hum from nearby machinery indicated that it was still in use. Ripper's uniform was missing, as was his flack vest. Instead he was clothed in a standard hospital gown which, judging by the itch was not intended for prolonged use.
The young man ignored the itch of the gown and bandage, resisting the urge to remove the latter. He might not have seen combat on Pittsburgh but he'd seen the consequences of it. He'd seen troopers bought in from space skirmishes, ordinance disposal accidents, the lot. Enough to know that bandages were more often used to for the benefit of the patient's sanity, rather then the wound itself. He remembered the pain when he ejected; the pain that was still clawing at the back of his mind, though now more of an insistent ache then the unbearable sensation of yesterday.
Ripper's contemplation was interrupted by the passage of a doctor, dressed in standard Navy Blues. The woman seemed surprised to see Ripper awake.
'Ah.' She pulled David's file off the ship's network, onto a hand-held Data pad. 'Mr Ripper. How are you?'
'Well enough I suppose. For someone in a hospital bed. Who are you? And what happened here?' Ripper gestured toward his bandaged hand.
The woman smiled. She looked to be in her 50's, and had probably withdrawn from frontline service a few years ago. You never left the forces though; they sure knew how to train loyalty.
'You're not in a hospital Lance Corporal.' His rank gleaned from the file no doubt. 'Not strictly speaking. Welcome aboard the Missouri. You're presently in the medical wing. As for me; I'm Petty Officer Gutton.' The name was drawn out; Goo-ton.
Ripper concealed his surprise at the unusual name. One didn't mention such things to a superior officer.
The Petty Officer grinned again. 'My parents were Rheinlanders, moved to Liberty when things with the LWB started getting'¦tenuous. Long before your time, mind.'
The Lance Corporal had tensed when she said Rheinlander's, remembering who was responsible for his current predicament. He relaxed; reminding himself the woman was at least 50 and on his side. Still; he could tell when someone was dodging a question.
'About my hand though'¦' Ripper left the question hanging.
Gutton sighed.
'Look, Ripper. We bought you in here on a freighter fresh from the Texas gate. You'd lost a fair bit of blood in the 15 minutes it took to get you here. Thus, that.' She nodded at the IV and corresponding machinery. 'You got a bit of glass in your chest too. The flack vest saved you from the worst of it, the rest we pulled out. You got lucky, that's not standard navy issue. I don't know what happened to your hand, perhaps it was caught in something when you ejected. Perhaps whatever destroyed your ship-'
'A mine' Ripper supplied.
'Perhaps the mine's detonation caused the instruments to wrap around it. In either case; you've lost both your ring and little finger. I'm sorry. Whatever happened was pretty bad, it was more like they'd been torn off at the wrist.'
Ripper leant back in his bed. He felt sick when he remembered the sudden pain as he ejected. The force of the launch had literally torn his fingers off.
'We've patched you up as best we can. The surgeons have integrated scaffolds for regrowth, but even then it won't be an immediate thing; even with the drugs.'
Modern medicine allowed for the growth of damaged or destroyed parts from a handful of cells. Troopers tended to refer to anyone who underwent such treatment as a 'Starfish', named as much for the tendency of early attempts at the surgery to result in extra or misaligned limbs as similarities to the regenerative crustacean. Ripper didn't know an awful lot about it, but he knew it was expensive. Due to the procedures cost it wasn't seen widely outside of government-subsidised industries. The Lance Corporal murmured a quiet prayer of thanks for Army medical cover.
'How long am I going to be here for?' Ripper's voice was remarkably steady. He was alive at, least. Possibly without lasting damage.
'You'll be looking at five days before you have anything even vaguely resembling fingers. No offence' she added, seeing the look on his face. 'By then though, you'll start to have some function in them. Nothing fancy, like touch, but you should have basic motor control.'
Ripper nodded.
'That's if you get a decent amount of rest.' She strode out of the room, leaving the tip.
'Yes, Petty Officer.' Ripper yawned at an empty wall; the bed suddenly looking a lot more inviting.
// Congratulations on making it this far! I hope you've enjoyed it. There will be more. Any feedback's appriciated. *Hint Hint*