Snakes and Toasters

[Panzer]

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...

---

[Panzer]

And so I am at Harris again. A decade later, sitting on an an icecube, surrounded by Kusari mines, wreckage and corpses nobody bothered to tend to. The Royals are sitting tight, all the action is in Leeds or further. Perhaps this is the right time to get brave? Perhaps not? Perhaps that Lynx will notice me? I could use a white-painted plane instead of this Nyx...

The other reason i'm reminiscing about a ship from over a decade ago is because one of my old squadmates - Gaetan Moliere got a teensy little promotion to Admiral in charge Fleet procurment and logistics. He's got this radical plan to make all weapon manufacturing standardized and completely independent from imports. Not gonna work if you ask me, too much foreign business at stake, but perhaps...

"Look at this mess: Some three hundred LFs rot in storage, not a single field command wants them. That's so many workhours and material wasted we might as well have lost a Deimos and a half. Pythos have gotten better with last year's upgrade but they're still bombers with those all attached limitations. The Nyx is as usual the only bright spot, but it's aging. Fighting Royals isn't the same as jousting tournaments against the Maltese. You need something to crack a valor's shield that doesn't instantly die from a disciplined fighter screen. It's even worse with larger ships! Each of the... one, two.. SIX with their own hardpoint sizes, propulsion, reactors. With a fleet our size we might as well be building each a custom piece of craftsmanship. MASS PROUCTION - thet's how you win wars and markets both!"

"Preaching to the choir, Moe. Markets and wars aside, you should meet some of the bomber crews - they'd have something to say about that so-called upgrade. Those poor bastards get shot down like flies if there's even a hint of flak or fighter cover against them. Not a popular posting, trust me, but without torpedo planes, we're even more screwed. So what exactly do you propose? scrap the fleet and start over?"

"Not quite, but eventually yes. As far as I could discern from your reports among others - the Fleet only needs about three ship classes aside from noncombatants to address all its present and foreseeable commitments. The Joint Fleet Strike Fighter program for instance - one instead of three. Why can't there be a Nyx with outboard heavy ordnance? We both flew vipers and they could somehow operate Antimatter torps without issue."

"Aside from the small issue of spare parts for an obscure piece of technology from another universe you mean?"

"Don't get sly. I got the JFSF program approved, though Dick doesn't believe it can happen. He's afraid we'll offend our magnanimous backers from abroad by forcing gear that doesn't conform to established practise. Still, I want to ask you something. What do you know of Moros depot?"

"Far away, pointless and very fun place, glad it's written off and nobody needs to go there anymore to check if thelights still work. It's always been such a great time slogging through Cretin space, dodging jellyfish only to mind some inexplicable supply depot at the end of reality."

"It is also the only of our prewar installations that hasn't been blown up, upgraded or dismantled. I know for a fact its last inventory included a goodly amount of basic supplies as well as a collection of Viper spare parts and hulls. If there's but a wreck of a Viper left anywhere - it will be somewhere near Moros. I want to have an intact viper or at least enough pieces to have the gearheads figure out how to replicate the technlogy behind strike fighters. I'll be calling Dick about jumping an expedition to the Nomicrons to search. I assume you'd volunteer for that?"

"Sounds like a great vacation. I mean sure, just to see a Snake again would be nice, but it's been years, by now Moros Depot is probably just charred bits on the surface. No way it kept orbit - and whatever it might have had stored - gone with it."

"Oh ye of little faith. I'll get things moving and call you again. try not to get killed in the meantime?

Well, I didn't. Unlike many others. Moe had a point. Even for a frontline pilot such as yours truly, it's painfully obvious, that the multitude of designs being built by Sabah only helps the foe. Pythos and Nyxes share some parts, but you still can't exactly cannibalize wreckage of the former to fix wrecks of the latter or vice-versa. I've seen seemingly intact bombers and fighters sit in hangar, the Chief powerless to get them flying for lack of that one, obnoxious little bit they didn't have in common. Perhaps the Bombnyx (Joint Fleet Strike Fighter is such a mouthfull) is the solution? Both to the parts issue as well getting my bombermen to stop dieng like flies two at a time.

But to expect that there's still Vipers to be found after all this time? Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of finding one and hogging it to myself, developing some new, shiny planes on its basis is a nice bonus. Pipedream.

---

[Panzer]

And so, I walk away from yet another round of murderous lunacy.

That by itself should be making me happy enough, but the real reason is that for the first time we fought and hurt the enemy in their own space. This time, it was me, on the wrong side of the minefields. And it felt good. What didn't feel good was seeing those Council buggers and our own ships throw themselves desperately, trying to take down that royal flagship despite having half a dozen others like it in the way. HQ, in their perverted kind of wisdom might - but I don't believe this fight was worth the losses.

No rest for the weary though, Belzen of all people got elevated in rank to commander-in chief and unsurprisingly, everything went into overdrive for a while. Part of it were my newest orders:

"Jack, you're heading out to the Omicrons. As you wanted to, if I'm reading these correctly."

"Just like that? No longer any need to dodge Royal flak guns? I thought you didn't like the idea of sending a cruiser to find a museum piece."

"I don't - it will not be your main objective anyway. Now... here's your actual assignment:
You are temporarily assigned as the commanding officer of a newly-commissioned reconnaissance vessel, the Tempestas. Your mission is to investigate the matter of spatial anomalies in the Omicrons beyond Delta. Best available information, acquired from third-party prospectors places a potentially relevant region of space in Omicron Lost. I'm sure the irony is not lost on you. While there, I see no reason why you shouldn't check up on Moros depot, see what's going on with it. If by the way you do manage to discover parts or even a whole Viper, consider it a bonus."

"So... not a cruiser and I'm supposed to look for anomalies? That doesn't seem like any better an idea than a wild museum piece chase"

"I see how that might seem the case, but the thing is - those anomalies have caught a lot of interest - and demand. Many parties nowadays have developed means to research these and the resulting data is used to manufacture some very interesting ordnance. I trust you have on occasion been on the receiving end of EMP flak guns?"

"I understand. I take it the ship and crew are waiting for me?"

"Yes they are. You have your orders, i expect to hear from you again soon."

And so, I've made my way to the Tempestas, an ostensibly civilian exploration ship nobody even bothered to paint correctly. Thankfully, in their haste, the knuckledraggers on Sabah neglected to remove the civilian comforts, provided by the manufacturer. I seriously could get used to quarters the size of a squadron's bunk-room. With a minibar.

Turned out soon enough, that the ships can bite if need be - along our way we stumbled upon a random Waran which seemed to think it might be a good idea to try and shake us down for some currency. I wasn't too familiar with the ship, but on-paper, it had the shield of a cruiser and almost the firepower of a gunboat. After a rather disappointing exchange of pleasantries, he broke off and got away.

We got through Bretonia without incident, getting hails and best wishes from our Marines at Cardiff, as we moved towards the Omegas.

Not sure if that ship was that stealthy or there just wasn't much traffic, but I expected the Hessians and Cretans to be on to us the very second we got near the Hammen hole, but nothing of the sort happened and we got past Ronnenburg, Cadiz, Leon... We weren't even detected moving through Gamma and Kappa. The first people we actually encountered were the Zoners in Delta.

The real surprise was in Lost.
Moros Depot was exactly where we left it all those years ago, but it didn't resemble the schematics at all. Instead, the station appeared to be sort-of inhabited, altered in ways that made absolutely no sense from an engineering standpoint. I ordered, that we back off, leave one of those First-Contact buoys and head back to the freeport. Nomads don't need to alter human installations like that, while hybrids and more or less ordinary people do it conventionally, however ramshackle and improvised. Whatever now resides there - isn't human. Not hostile either it seems, else they'd go after us immediately. Somehow, I knew this wouldn't be the end of surprises.

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