August 27th, 826 A.S.
Tau-31 system, Border Worlds
A Winter Wonderland
Red Monday.
Yesterday had been perhaps the most tense day of defensive combat the crew of the ship had ever undertaken. They were already decided in their actions, that standing their ground would be the end of their short existence as a defeated military warship, and thus the order was given. Not by a superior, heavens no. Such an order was treasonous, but then there had been a lot going around the Marine Royale at that point.
They had no idea what they'd done, nor why. Glassing an entire planet was a fool's errand, and yet the Royal Navy managed to do just that. For it they paid with every last scrap of merit they had left, but for what its worth four hundred thousand million tons of potential energy secured the greatest kill/death ratio of any military conflict in human history. Seven billion for the loss of only a percentage.
It disgusted them, frankly.
The ship had been jammed in place for over twelve hours at this point, the ice of the barrier locking the battered warship still within orbit of the Border World star. the paint had begun to fade already, given proximity to the star's coronal edge. Life was fading from the ship, rather slowly mind, but fading nonetheless.
Survival was dim.
The enemy was everywhere, even if they were secluded within the voids of space, accompanied only by large chunks of the substance that gave them life, ironically sapping it from their vessel.
Crayter wanted nothing with them. Bretonia would hang them.
Liberty would likely affix them to the bow of an Overlord and slam them into a moon.
Regardless, the crew sat diligently, awaiting any contact on local neutral frequencies, unaware of their destroyed communications antenna.
A hindrance that would almost certainly seal their fate.
Almost.
Though there was a silver lining.
Vast quantities of food, for some unknown reason. The ship's role as a commerce raider ironically became its lifeline, offering sustenance for now.
It was a fading lining, but when hell's knocking, a dim light can seem like a fire.
It works both ways, but shines some amount of light.
Light they needed to get out of the darkness they were in.
August 28th, 826 A.S.
Tau-31 system, Border Worlds
Through the Scope
Warfare Command Center
Deck 18, Midships
Work was being done on the communications, with minimal success. Aside from being bashed into the hull of the ship, the prospect of being discovered put a shiver into the crew like nothing the vacuum of space ever could. Being found by their former comrades in arms after confirming the destruction of at least two Royal warships during their escape would be a death sentence. Being found by their former enemies after years of service killing their comrades in arms would be a death sentence. Being found by pirates in general would be a death sentence given the atrocities the Marine inflicted upon each of the local bands.
Even doing nothing would be a death sentence, as the cold would eventually sap the ship, and the food would run out.
Most looked to the commander of the vessel, a hardened woman who resented her former superiors' attitudes against those they fought. It was her leadership that allowed them to flee from Leeds in the first place, though it may have been her lack of forethought that trapped them in the Barrier field.
Her decision, hasty and unusually well executed, likely cost them the ship, but even in a dark hole with no light hope remained.
It had to.
The bridge itself was bustling with activity, and it wasn't simply because of the importance of the section of the ship. Most of the warmth on the ship was focused here, insulated by thick layers of heavy armor plating known to surround the hull of most 'Normandie'-class warships. Within the warmth, the heads of the ship's leadership coordinated, hoping to create a plan to ensure the ship could survive.
Stood at the front of the bridge was Ambre Boffrand, the captain herself, the pressed white military uniform of the now defunct Gallic Royal Navy draped over her like a mark of bad memories. With the ship's executive officer lost in the retreat, the next in line to replace him was the ship's former radio officer, Nina Massé, and while the ship's condition was deteriorating, no amount of coordination could happen with a fractured leadership aboard. "Nina," Ambre said, her eyes glaring at her. Her tone itself was rather gruff, a far call from the timid woman she was when she took command. "I need your best judgement. Louis is gone, so along with Catherine and Constantin you're part of this glue. What do you think our chances are if we rework the communications channels?"
Nina pondered the question for a moment. As a radio operator, she hadn't much but to listen to the orders she was given, relay information and ensure all went smoothly within the bridge on a communications level. Leading wasn't far off, but was a different step than simply being an adviser. "Slim? Maybe.." She didn't have much in the way of an answer for Ambre, especially concerning communications, ironic given where she'd came from. "If we work it through, we run the risk of being detected."
"Then we need to decide who we operate towards."
On the far of the central platform from Ambre was Constatin Roatta, the ship's chief engineer. While not a leader in his own right, most of the ship would be dysfunctional without him. A helpful mind to have when you're up shit creek without a paddle.
He spoke out, crossing his arms. "Aye, though as much as I feel we'd have a chance, I don't believe we'd leave the system without being detected. Terrorist Crayterians have practically flooded the system, and there are units all over the place. This isn't even recent intel. They took New Tours, so we're sitting ducks to their forces."
"They may be sympathetic towards us.. the ship is battered, we've openly defied the Crown.. perhaps as far as they're concerned we may be no better to them as any potential defectee to the Council is.." Nina pondered for a moment before continuing, a trait she liked to emote. "If they worked with traitors before, they may be able to look past our uniforms and accept us for what we are."
Ambre scoffed, hands stuffed into her pockets. "And I assume you'd have us break out the wine for them as well.." She didn't seem too impressed with the idea of working with what to her were no more than terrorists, but the points brought up were unusually solid.
It sure didn't sit well in her gut. That much was certain. "I suppose you do have a point, though.. even if they are scum, they may be sympathetic."
On the far end of the central platform sat the navigational officer, Catherine Abadie. Despite the relative integrity of the bridge, her uniform was rather blemished. Having been one of the first to respond to the ship's injuries left her in a dirtied state. The importance of manning her post kept her from changing, but then there was a lot of that going around. "Our primary focus should be securing the safety of the crew. Diplomacy with terrorists or Crayterians, whichever we call them, can come after each of our people is on solid ground."
She was a noted benevolent soul, which only made her disgusted by the atrocities committed on Leeds. The crew to her were among close family and friends, and to her their priorities were her own.
Nina nodded. "I agree. We should focus on getting the ship and the crew to safety. I say we try and raise the communications. Even if we're going to call them terrorists, they at least have some amount of mercy for traitors."
Ambre sighed. Her hope was to remain in isolation, find seclusion and coordinate a way back home without affixing herself or the crew to local forces. To a degree, the plan would get the crew home, though it wasn't likely any of the command staff would.
But what was the point in leading if you didn't make an example of yourself?
September 15th, 826 A.S.
Tau-31 system, Border Worlds
Compulsion
Communcations Center
Deck 5, Midships
He laid motionless on the floor, his blood spattered across the wall from the cut she'd given him. Even in death, his body still convulsed, spurting blood onto the floor. Thank God the floor was metal.
Wouldn't have come out as easily.
Dubost's body kept spazzing for a few more moments, leaving Ambre to merely watch on at it as the engineering teams continued on silently with their work. No one had ever seen a crew member go haywire like that. No one wanted to. Such was only ever seen in flicks or in tales of crews gone far more south than they had.. unless they were already. "Normal duties. Everyone," she uttered finally, the rest of the onlookers quietly moving on with their normal workflow. She cleared herself, taking a deep breath and putting her small knife back in the cuff of her boot. Handy, especially when lowly subordinates go nuts. She tapped the insignia on her uniform, a small 'click-click' uttering out before a line of communications was established. "Boffrand to Massé. Get a medical team to comms.. bring a bag."
A small 'Oui, madem' was heard before the line was cut.
Ambre didn't enjoy it. How could she? Robert Dubost was just as much part of the crew as Nina was, and to that much everyone else. Ending a life was something she only felt comfortable doing from long range with larger guns than life. Never close, and never by herself.
It was uncomfortable for her. Probably for everyone else, too.
She returned to watch over the engineers as they worked to finish up the last of the repairs, yet couldn't get the sight out of her head.
Dubost trying to grab her, make her 'see' with his hands just how much he hated what she was doing. How far they'd gone from saving the ship. Even his last words chilled her to the bone. 'You're killing us!'
It sent shivers down her spine, and even beyond that.
She knew there would be dissenters. It was as certain as the staleness of the recycled air. No one wanted to accept it, her included, but she felt it would've happened eventually. Dubost was a hardline isolationist, advocating for the ship to sneak out of the Barrier and make steam for the Sigmas under its own power. While his goals were at best admirable, few aboard with opposing ideas to the Captain took into account the ship's actual status. She was a beaten war toy, battered and busted into a state few would consider workable. The rocks burrowing their way into the armor didn't help.
Ambre simply kept on watching, ensuring the comms came online
Everyone feared the implications of contact. Especially Ambre. No certainties could be made about what would happen. Crayter could be open to their defection, or strike at them with a righteous fist of God. Their old comrades could pick up the line, or pirates could discover their location.
An eternity in hell made her quake in her boots, and rightly so.
October 24th, 826 A.S.
Tau-31 system, Border Worlds
Mutiny
Crew Quarters
Deck 7, Fore
"Warning. Warning. Main bulkhead in Deck-4-Section-13 breached. No life signs."
The alarm was beginning to get enthusiastic at this point, blaring each time a single firearm was discharged. Ambre tried to shut it out, but the sheer volume was enough to make any attempt futile.
Why do bad things always happen to normal people.
The ship, over the past month, had seen its fair share of drama. From the first casualty at the hands of Boffrand, no more than five others had all taken their chances trying to seize power for themselves aboard the ship. No man had a better plan than the other, yet all tried to usurp command, failing each time at the edge of Ambre's minuscule boot knife. In a way, it was humiliating, yet mildly entertaining for some. These ended up being catalysts, however.
The mutiny began nearly a week prior, when a charismatic gunner's mate from from the lower decks riled up enough supporters to intimidate the ship's command staff. While they remained out numbered by the rest of their still loyal crew, the mutineers held a commanding position from the aft end of the ship, near engineering. A position they've since threatened the rest of the ship with.
Action was taken by the marines still loyal to Ambre and her staff to contain the situation, yet it only seemed to further escalate the issue. After a month of taunts, demands, ignoration, and waiting, the powderkeg finally blew, nearly literally.
An explosion off the starboard wing on Deck 4 caused by the mutineers set off a campaign that would claim over twenty lives before today's end. While bulkheads, fields and clever usage of the ship's 48 yottawatt shield generator kept the ship pressurized, eighteen of the crew were vented into space before anyone had time to flick a switch. Two more were shot dead by marines, and over a hundred of the crew, mutineers and loyalists alike, were injured, half of the command staff included.
Near the 'front line', arbitrary as sealed bulkheads and blast doors locked off the fighting to a small corridor on Deck 7, the med bay was full of valued friends and accomplices. Ambre watched over each of them, hoping to not only inspire a sense of hope, however useful it would be, but ensure that her crewmates were pulling through. Some had grievous injuries, while others seemed better off. "This whole thing has been a disaster," she thought to herself.
December 27th, 826 A.S.
Tau-31 system, Border Worlds
War Aboard
Starboard Infirmary
Deck 12, Midships
Two Months.
The time it took to repair the communications systems was lengthy, even for engineers of this calibre. With the amount of fighting aboard, no room was given for the teams to take thorough looks over the electronics. Each motion could've been their last.
The mutineers, now drawing over half the crew to their side, began all out attempts to destroy the communications relay. Anything to disrupt Ambre's plans. And for the most part, it was looking as if they may succeed. No amount of cover could defend against over six-hundred of their own friends and acquaintances, especially when the same amount of people were fighting to keep you alive.
The entire ship had been effected by this point, with no bulkhead or console untouched in some way by the fighting. Corridors burned, metal was marked, bodies laid strewn about at intervals uncomfortable to the human stomach. Half the remaining command staff had seen their end at the hands of the mutineers, leaving Ambre, Nina, the engineering teams and a handful of junior officers to lead the rest of the crew against their former comrades.
On the outside, the frost of the Barrier began to start striking at the hull of the ship. The radiation from the sun had baked the hull bleach white, with only the defiant emblem of the Marine Royale remaining partially visible, faded from exposure to the intense heat and alpha rays. The hull creaked, groaning under the stress. The ship wasn't meant to be out this long without support, and her age didn't help. Normandie-class battleships of the Marine Royale were given extended shelf-lives to see the end of the war. While she'd met that condition, the ship was never retired after her use, and her much needed refit was delayed indefinitely by the Council victory.
Something Ambre knew deep down inside.
Their only hope was to get comms online. What days or hours they had left counted on it.
Each shot weakened their chances.
It would take a miracle to save them now.
A miracle that seemed to stray farther and farther from them.
January 13th, 827 A.S.
Tau-31 system, Border Worlds
Contact
Data Servers
Deck 18, Midships
The crackle seemed to give them hope. For the first time in four months, sound was coming from the small speaker in the side of the panel, marking their first contact since their escape from Leeds.
Ambre breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally. I think that's it, ensign.. try and raise a link with whatever nearby forces you can. If our intel was right, then this whole system should be under control by those Crayterians.."
The ensign nodded, working while Ambre and Nina looked on, soon beginning to send the message out.
As they worked to establish contact, the fighting continued raging, the crackles caused more by the stress on the ship's superstructure than any real fault in the wiring. Indeed, while they worked, two of the mutineers closed on the server room, remaining rather quiet in their approach. Near the end of Ambre's transmission, they burst in, incapacitating the ensign. A short scuffle rang out, leaving one of the mutineers dead at the hand of Ambre's boot knife, while the other brandished a sidearm.
"Arrêtez!" he shouted, aiming the weapon at his captain and her executive. "I'm not letting you send this message, Captaine! Have you lost your damn mind?!" His tone was erratic, and Ambre could tell. His mind was full of the propaganda the mutineer leadership had been spreading around, claiming Ambre's dedication to letting the ship be blown apart, or something. Their talk was more out of general hate than any real reason.
"Put the weapon down, Sous-Lieutenant. That's an order." Ambre, meanwhile, remained calm. Her experience with ending the lives of her own crew, while she didn't enjoy it, brought a level of experience she didn't want. It seemed necessary, though, and certainly was coming handy here. "You don't know what's going on. That gunnery officer has been filling your head with lies and slander. No weight-"
He jerked his hand, pointing the weapon at Nina, who seemed rather alarmed with it all. She'd never been in a situation like this, held at gunpoint with the snap of a neuron being the difference between life or death. "You don't know that!! What good will come of it, huh?! You make contact, we get found, and they execute us all for being perpetrators to their darkest hour!"
Ambre couldn't come up with an immediate response. His points were rather valid, if exaggerated. Regardless, contact needed to happen. "What would you prefer, Sous-Lieutenant? That we freeze to death in space, wait for them to find us frozen our here in the middle of this field? The engines are out, mon ami. We aren't moving. We've tried for weeks, and nothing. This is the only solution."
He jerked his hand again, shouting out. "Non!"
With a swift snap of his finger, the gun rang out. Ambre couldn't hear after it, instinctively lunging forward and flinging her knife at the Sous-Lieutenant, catching him in the eye and dropping him cold. A moment passed afterwards. Then another. Each was measured in heartbeats, her blood pumping. She didn't enjoy killing done personally. It was a cruel and pointless task. Add in that they were her own crewmates, and it brought a tear to her eye just thinking about it.
As Ambre caught her breath, she could hear the ringing being replaced by the sound of a loud thud to her right. She turned her head, Nina's motionless body lying face down in a pool of her own bodily fluids. She knelt down, tapping her insignia. "Boffrand to Medical. Data Center, emergency level fourteen. Executive down."
From the short-wave comm device sounded out a small 'Oui' as she tried to cover the gash in Nina's neck. The high powered shot didn't do much straight damage, it seemed, but an artery was definitely severed. People didn't tend to live after these sorts of things.
Medical teams arrived within a lengthy moment, taking Nina off to medical. Ambre would have joined, but reluctantly the mission came first. No point in saving her executive if the ship was doomed.
Ambre stepped back over to the console, finishing her transmission, casting it out into the system for pickup. As the ensign came to, he expedited the process, using what power he could to ensure it reached the other end near Holman. Once out, Ambre breathed yet another sigh.
With hope, it would spell rescue. If not, then perhaps the Sous-Lieutenant was right.
Perhaps she was the death of the ship.