Distress call. Another group in Liberty needs assistance. You know the drill, Scott: gear up, run to the fighter, one minute to calculate the route, then the long flight with unknown outcome begins.
And while we waste our forces dealing with those who could in theory terminate the problem we're faced with, "the problem" itself grows stronger. I wonder why won't they pay attention to the threat? Are they unaware? - No, impossible. Do they underestimate it? - No, the lessons of the previous war are quite fresh. Wait, the previous war? No, the war still continues. That war began long ago, and it never actually ended. And what are the governments doing? - Perhaps, they simply consider the nomads beaten. Or in the worst case, they may even be...
The thoughts coming into Brian's head were quite displeasing. Although he knew that his last, yet unshaped thought was wrong most likely, he couldn't get rid of it. What if the government officials really are...? - No, they have equipment to monitor the infestation now. Keep thinking about it and you'll become a paranoid. - the inner voice interrupted Brian's thought.
Again corporal Scott was sitting at his favourite place, drinking the ale glass after glass. Remembering the previous events. Arguing with himself. Instinctively he noticed Santos Bolevara entering the bar, and the thoughts switched into other direction. -Those guys were counting on you. You failed. Bolevara's ship was down even before you managed to come. The major was left alone. When you arrived, the odds became even again. And you failed. -But I seem to have underestimated the opposition...
-You are an operative trained to deal with any potential threat. That means you should always be aware of the enemy's forces, their firepower and their potential. -It was just not the type of combat I'm used to...
-You must adapt. Survive. Prevail. You must always find adequate response. Otherwise you're worthless.
Brian realised that he was right, he couldn't do much. But his conscience kept the pressure, there was nothing that Scott could do to stop it. He tried to shake his head, fending those thoughts off, as if they were annoying flies, but it didn't help. Especially when heard the silent groaning of Bolevara.
Brian expected the fine Bretonian Ale to do the job, but instead of purging the unwanted memories it kept calling them to life. Bastet taking critical damage... Exploding... Brian's pod slowly flies away. To be recovered by another corporal, Nicholas Rogers.
-At least some of the equipment was saved.
-That is not an excuse for your failure. You lack in training. You need to practice more...
...It's gonna be gettin' a lot more harder in the future...
Harder? What can be worse than that counter-strike arranged by the Navy? What can be worse than a squadron of professional pilots working as a team? What can be worse than the battle that happened then, Brian? - Hmmm... Maybe the Bounty Hunter Guild Core vessels and the whole nomad fleet orbiting Toledo?
Brian smiled at that ridiculous thought and kept drinking. The ale must've started working.
Sudden influx of damaged fighters around Toledo surface landing pads rushed everyone to their working places,
additional shifts were raised just to keep up with removing and repairing damaged vessels so new ones could have somewhere to land...
No questions were asked, what happened, where....
Everyone knew...Order was engaged in yet another massive battle, this time it was the Liberty Navy,
dozens of fighter squadrons marched in Minor, breaking any nearby fighter defenses who were caught unprepared...several bomber wings made a swift clean on more then 5,6 Order capitals who got caught in cross fire, including one carrier, battle was long and hard, Order took yet another heavy punch. How long will we be able to hold on like this.... Were the main thoughts messing around Commodore Taggart's mind. He lost full fighter squadron plus 2 hathors today....only 3 pods recovered...
What is Navy becoming? Another selfish bloody Bounty Hunters and their Core buddies? On top of all the Core warships raiding Minor, Wild raging in Omegas and Rheinland, we are expected to fight darn Navy?!Arghh- Aaron raged while leaving landing pads, where he crash landed with his nephtys, kicking all kinds of junk pieces around....
His Bretonian manners were gone, only pure Molly left, swearing like never before he couldn't keep it for himself anymore...
He made his way to the only place where he will seek comfort...the bar...old habit which was sometimes the only bright point in his life...
He rammed in the bar, still carrying his helmet, then throwing it on one of the tables, and yelled: Bring me full bottle of anything...I am in that mood today! Bartender sent one waiter with bottle, knewing Commodore had a rought day, and needs something to relax, all the pilots in bar stoped drinking for a second...then continued...Aaron was not the first nor last person with such day. All the pilots here are convicted to same destiny.
Santos looks at Jessica, his vision is blurred from too much alcohol in his bloodstream.
You think so Hermana? He replies.
Well...I think so too....but we'll hold on, if I have to put my own body between that Mako and Toledo...
He groans, as a loose movement brings another jolt of pain. He looks around slowly, seeing people of all ranks and all stripes drinking, and sitting with their heads bowed, It seemed way too much like the bar on Cadiz, after a Corsair raid had gone very wrong. He did not like it, but he felt as if he could not move. It would be great to just lie down, in half-wakefulness, and forget about this damn battle and all it's grief, but the warrior spirit within him refused to give up...He had to rouse them somehow.One more effort, one more day.
He saw Jessica offering him a drink, and took it gladly, then got up shakily, the pain was being numbed, but it was still there, like a stiletto aimed at your heart. He climbed onto a table, moved by the desire to do something.
He raised his voice above the crowd.
Hermanos, Hermanas!
The bar was silenced. Everyone looked at him tiredly.
How about a song? Back on Crete, we used to sing songs to honour the dead, and to take us to more victories, and we must do the same here!
Having said that, he lost his balance, and landed on his rear, causing a few cracked smiles.
Jack helped Santos get up.
"Are you alright Captain? I think you should sit for a second or two"
People kept looking at them with faint smiles on their faces until they returned to their sits next to Jessica.
Jack took a zip from the second Vodka bottle and said
"So Jessica, how was your patrol?"
He waited for a few minutes and got no reply.
"Haha, not so good eh?" He smiled briefly "Yeah, these are tough times. But, we'll manage. We always do"
He took another zip from his drink.
"Right?"
"You know who I am..." It wasn't a question, but she was teasing the Ensign.
"Yes, I do."
"Yes, I do Ma'am!" The guard hit her face with the back of his rifle. Blood splat across the hall. She didn't have any more strenght left to scream. Only a brief mumbling came out of her lips.
"Don't let her fade away."
Moiraine's voice was calm, emotionless. She felt no pity for Ensign Mara. Not that she felt anything for anyone in truth but after they found out who she really was, the tiny bit of Commodore Damodred's humanity was gone as well.
They were experiencing ship malfunctions both on board the smaller craft as well as the Immortal herself. At first, they looked like simple engineering mistakes caused by heavy workload. No matter what the cause was, they were human after all.
After a while though, the so called "accidents" started to increase in numbers. The final issue was about Immortal's navigation controls. Two times in their thirty hours journey, they experienced auto-navigation malfunction, losing half of the map data. Only the experience of senior bridge crew saved the computer core. Else, they would be lost in open space until they managed to get in touch with another Order craft where they can re-install the navigation matrix.
Suspiciously, Ensign Mara was on duty when routine maintainance checks were on going or registered in all repair drills going on board the Immortal whenever those problems occured. Commodore Damodred had spent all of her officer career in Order, coming back from the days of Casper Orillion. She had extensive field training and learnt almost everything the hard way.
Mara was cunning but not enough to beat the old hag. The Iron Lady realized her connection and asked the security team to follow Ensign Mara. It wasn't long after when she got caught while trying to sabotage the jump drive. It was alarming though. They had serious breaches in security before but it took lots of effort to do that and so, they were rare. Nowadays, with all those new recruits coming, they had more and more gaps opening within their security protocols. Mara was one of the newbies, started serving on Immortal only three weeks ago.
Now, her life was clinging at the end of Moiraine's feeling of mercy, which was non-existant.
"Tell me Ensign Mara, I can say that you are not an infected one... The so called Wild. So... who are you? Whom do you work for?"
Mara gave a brief smile. She was barely holding. When the security team caught her mangling with the jump drive, she tried to make her way out and a gunfight broke loose. Before they neutralized her, Mara shot one of the marines at his leg. Well, it was obvious that the security team were a bit more than upset to see their friend getting hurt. They've beaten up the woman pretty hard before they brought her to the Commodore.
"I work for them. You know it... Commodore." This time, she addressed her as an officer. Whether you work for aliens or for humans, it didn't matter. Life was precious.
"Girl. Who are your superiors? Whom you give your reports to? Give me contacts, names, locations, secrets."
"No... I can't. Kill me if you wish but I won't tell you anything."
Moiraine didn't even blink. She wasn't showing any signs of emotions. No anger, no pity. Nothing.
"Do you know why they call me the Iron Lady?"
Mara looked Moiraine in the eye... There was nothing behind those eyes. As if, her soul was taken away and it was merely a shell that endured.
"It is because you are fearless, emotionless. It is because you don't bend to life and its difficulties."
It was the standart definition any officer of Order would give. More or less.
"No. It is because I don't care." With that, Moiraine turned back and started out of the hall.
"Throw her out of the airlock." She didn't even hesitate, she didn't even turn back. Without losing pace, she walked out of the scene, not hearing Ensign Mara's begs for mercy.
For her, there was no Ensign Mara. It was already in the past.
....
....
Immortal drifted slowly towards her coordinates as a doll rag like body moved away from the ship, staring with a lifeless gaze at the eternity of space.
Captain Leigh smacked the side of his radar display in an attempt to stop it flickering. In Alaska, where collision hazards were thick on the ground, a working radar display would be essential for travelling at cruise speed. Warning lights flashed all over the controls as the Bastet moved slowly through the eerie expanse of Alaska, trailing a steady stream of coolant and a small trail of debris drifting from the weapon impacts that pockmarked the fighter. The ship's cruise engines had cut out several times on the return journey and the systems damaged during the battle with the Bounty Hunter had deteriorated to the point of near uselessness. Only one out of the ships four Reapers was still capable of firing, the radar had begun to malfunction and damage to the engines and the leaking coolant ensured that only short bursts of cruise travel were possible before the engines shut down from overheating.
Giving up on his radar, the captain opened a secure comm line to mission command.
"Mission command, this is Captain Leigh," he said, "my radar is failing and my coolant levels are critical. I can't keep up cruise speed any longer, any chance of recovery?"
The usual crackle of static came before the reply.
"Negative Captain, all recovery vessels are currently occupied around Minor. No definate guess on when they will be available."
The captain sat back and swore to himself. Travelling to the Omicron Minor jump solely on impulse engines would take longer than his limited oxygen supplies would last. He closed his eyes and considered his options. He was considering breaking radio silence and putting out a general distress call when there was a sudden bump on his cockpit's canopy and he jerked his eyes open. Staring out into the dim light of Alaska, Leigh was face to face with the floating body of an Order ensign, her hair splayed out in the weightlessness of space and her face frozen in an expression of terror.
The captain shivered and jerked the control stick sharply to the port side to dislodge the body from the front of his vessel. The frozen body had convinced him of the only course of action left open to him. A distress call would alert every LSF and Navy vessel in the system that he was there and it wouldn't be long before they organised search wings to hunt him down. Still, he reasoned, being shot down was better than dying slowly in his cockpit or in the confines of his pod waiting for recovery. The floating body had been a painful reminder of that fact. And there was always the chance that a friendly vessel would reach him before the authorities.
Opening a system wide comm broadcast, he spoke into his helmets microbead.
"This is Order patrol alpha two one, requesting assistance on my transponder. I have critical damage and my engines are non fuctional, over."
Quote:Dublin Miner: I am Gallic admiral earning money in Bretonia.
Santos relaxes in his seat. His call for a song went unheard, maybe this was not the best time for it after all. Hearing Brown's comment, he got to his feet with surprising agility for a man as drunk as he was.
You listen to me, Ensign... He starts menacingly.
It's never good, do you understand? Never! Either you survive...or you die! Just like that! He snaps his fingers while saying so.
What you can do, Ensign, is attempt to survive. The longer you survive, the longer we hold out, Si? Ungh... He ends his statement as another spasm of pain takes over, and he sits down. Looking out at the sky through a window, he wonders what's in store, the stars cannot be seen on Toledo, all being covered in a green miasma, but in the far distance, a blue nebula twinkles....
Battleship Atum, Alaska System.
The lights in the hangar are dimmed, as is usual. The Battleship Atum is a covert battleship, and it needs all the advantage it can get. Radar Scramblers, Silent Engines, low heat signature, all help it against electronic detection. The dimmed lights help it against visual detection, however unlikely it might be.
Ensign Kenji Shirohito was suiting up, preparing to sortie from the Atum for another run. The Atum would launch a flurry of sorties at regular intervals, then change position to prevent detection and tracing. He was leading patrol Zeta-2 this time. All was in readiness, he relaxed in his cockpit, waiting for the Doors to open...
The Alarms went red. Kenji looked around worriedly, wondering what might be going on. He soon had his answer.
This is Atum Actual, We have detected a distress signal in Sector 2F, Identified as Order. All fighter wings are to mobilise to that location and investigate. Over and out.
This should be interesting, Kenji thought, as he launched from the Atum out into the blue nebula of Alaska. The gases twirled around slowly, and the strangely shaped asteroids made it look like a graveyard of unquiet dead. He hated this system, too dark, too mysterious, too...brutal.
Zeta Wing, set course to 2F! Uploading last known coordinates! The Ensign barked out his orders, and Zeta wing set out, followed by Alpha and Beta....
Moiraine was looking outside of her window. They were stationed in Tau 37 for two days now. However, the trip turned out to be more than a pain in the ass. First the problems caused by Ensign Mara, followed up by her execution, then the security team's excessive search were all tiresome for her.
She was instable to say at best but still, Moiraine was over-intelligent than many when compared to. She knew that sooner or later, paranoia would take a hold on the crew and Order in general. No one was speaking it out loud yet but eyes were looking for conspiracy at every turn. Crewmen were wary of each other, not sure whom to trust. Infected personnel was one thing but having xeno-lovers on board the ship in disguise was unbearable.
She expected to see flames erupting from this spark. Eventually one of the crew members would accuse the other of being a spy, an alien lover and then everything would go downhill fast like a freight train without breaks. Unstopable, and taking a huge effort to regain control.
She couldn't allow the crew to get suspicious of her because she was the holding figure of the ship. If they thought of her will is being bended, they would riot and Immortal would meet with her doom.
No, she had to be precise, cunning, deadly. She decided to create three security teams not aware of each other's existance, and having them running a full time sweep over the crew for hints of another traitor hiding amongst them.
Yes... the freight train was starting to roll down. She wondered how fast they will hit the wall when it all came down to the bottom of the track.
It was just another boring patrol in Chester for Major Eriksson Ravenov. He was patrolling that area for the entire duration of his stay at Islay for the last 4 months. Each patrol revealed nothing new what the Order didn't know already. Every now and then there was the occasional Morph or Labraid, but nothing he couldn't handle.
"Patrol Logbook #124: Ran into a morph it attacked my vessel, but nothing serious. I terminated it and am continuing the patrol. Logbook pause. This is getting more boring with every passing day, however it is my duty so let it be so. I just hop...what in the name of God?"
In one mere second a whole Nomad capital fleet appeared on long range scanners within system. The Nomad presence in Chester was growing with each day it was left untouched.
"The hell...I need to get my head out of here while I still can. Computer set course for Edinburgh, 110% speed!"
-Back at Islay-
"Begin video transmission. Admirals, I have recieved reports that abnormal Nomad acivity has been detected in Chester and Newcastle. Newcastle is under control thanks to the Bretonnian Armed Forces for now, but I fear if we don't do something about Chester the Nomad there will rush to Newcastle to help their brethren. The Gaians and I are doing as much as we can, but all we can do is monitor the growing acivity. With this transmission I'm sending my latest patrol Logbook as well as scanner history. Major Ravenov out."
After he transmitted the video to the High Command he went to the bar to relax. The growing Nomad fleet in Bretonia was the last thing he wanted to see. As they say..be careful what you wish for.
"Get me a beer, please, Munich brew if you got some."
"When you get the money, you get the power. When you get the power, you get the women."
-by Tony Montana
A calm evening was at Toledo's surface...Fleet Admiral's main office isolated from rest of the underground complex was in silence...you could only hear occasional foot steps and chatter of night shift patrols down the corridors...
Something strange felt in those underground bunkers, people were avoiding going anywhere alone, fear crept under people's skin, every few weeks, one or two pilots snaped from all the stress, panic, memories of fallen wingmens...
Jack was sitting in his office in dark, enjoying the silence and peace which lately does not come around often.
His console started beeping...an incoming transmission from Major Eriksson.
He lowered his feets from table, and gave a closer look to the transmission...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
After carefully reading and replying to every said word, Jack felt exhausted, tired by constant mourning coming from all ranks. What is happening to us? How long will we manage to keep up like this, god damn it, with all the batttles, we are scattered on many fronts, being pushed from all sides... Order's future is not bright, we are taking daily loses, and yet no near end is visible. Jack's last thoughts were, as his head hit the desk, and he fell asleep.