An act of strategy

An anaconda rumbles overhead, slowing under navigation guidance and nudging off the centre line towards a large landing pad. It twists to line up against the blinking focus of guiding lights, and for a moment there's a clear view of melted metal battle scars around the power plant. A battle hardened ship and fresh in from combat.

That one will be in repair for a while.

Direct line of sight with the Vestigial Echo is interrupted for a moment while the secure comms channel reacquires from a partial lock. Although it is difficult to intercept direct line of sight comms, this also makes it sensitive to what is happening in the surroundings. The pulses from the anaconda's thrusters are distorting the beam path and the software struggles to stabilise the data stream against the disturbance.

A monochromatic hand pointing at the data map flickers and de-rez's for a moment, and the sound breaks up like something is struggling to breath while gulping in water.

The Quivira military planners have given the Pilots of the Federation a relatively free reign to come and go at whim. The usual combat missions for a war zone are available on the bulletin boards, about the only advice on where reinforcements are needed and pointing the way to where combat zones have spilled up within close orbit of the nearby planets.

Scouts find a small group of enemy ships that are awaiting reinforcements in an unidentified signal source. If the scout escapes then an attack fleet is assembled from nearby forces and, guided from the intel, jumps in for an assault. The reinforcements that were called for arrive though not always in a timely way that can sway the battle decisively, and so the intensity ramps up to a bloody furball.

System wide tactical scanners identify the volume of space from the arrival of ships and outpouring of intense weapon discharge. The unmistakeable signature and number of power plants losing containment will mark it as a combat zone.

A profile emerges and battle lines are drawn. Appear strong where you are weak. Show weakness where you are strong. Moving to shore up this battle will hold those loyal to the whim of Patreus at bay. Applying an overwhelming force over there to force a local retreat that draws enemy forces away from elsewhere to create a weakness.

Time and only time allows more civilians to escape to relative safety.

The convoys of civilian ships leaving the station need protection and a chance to escape to adjacent systems. A nearby combat zone looks likely to spill over and allow the forces of Patreus to gain control and expand out into supercruise. That would dominate intersystem travel and lock down reinforcements.

The hologram rendering of Gearwright moves around the small tactical display and points at a volume of space around Quivira One. A natural staging area for ships jumping into the system that don't have capital ship assistance.

Gearwright and I are in agreement that this is a worthwhile place to apply effort to a containment operation.

The ship's computer chirrups the arrival of a message and, with a short nod from me, summarises its content.

"An update from station logistics: delivery delayed."

Pulling up the manifest and looking at the restock ETA for the Debitum Naturae raises a groan, and it's taken longer than originally estimated to find some shield cells for my Vulture. Credit where it is due though: the Quivira system government have opened up their stockpiles of ammunition and essential combat consumables to the pilots that have signed up. Those crews are very much overworked and will probably stay up until the end, on the understanding that their families departed to safety first. Brave souls.

An opportunity to talk about secure communications then. I must admit to not being too happy about the content of the private message from Gearwright that brought me here. It contained location details and a holiday invite to a system known to be in trouble with Patreus.

The conversation is short and Gearwright listens patiently. It's been a while since I've done this and the message cleanup protocols for secure comms over a channel that is assumed to be monitored and broken are a bit rusty.

"...And so the use of imprecise language and strong hints of past conversations will obscure the message to a heuristic scan. When our previous engagements with an adversary are a known factor then a system with known adversary activity will raise a flag."

Gearwright nods. He's noticed I've avoided naming names and fallen into the same pattern of talking.

"A few tweaks here and the message has picked up a banality that should look like a natural banter between friends, rather than a statement of intent." 

The computer chimes in again helpfully: "Message analysis: 97% probability of match against message rejection filters."

The hologram flickers and dies again as another ship passes overhead, though I'm pretty sure that the corner of his mouth tightened up in a smirk first...

An act of terror

There's a lot of traffic going through Quivira these days.

Civilian ships duck and dart in between the weary combat vessels. Shuttles pour up from the planet's surface bringing more people to the station, full of families separated under duress and carrying their precious lives with little else to speak of. Fearful of the unknown and frightened of what the future holds.

The luxurious Orca passenger ship emerges from the depths of the station and wobbles as it launches from the pad. Such ships are normally commissioned by the rich for tourism and luxury trips through safe systems. As the ship passes by I look across. The view panels are transparent, forgotten in the rush to leave and there is no privacy. Frightened children cling to their mothers. One young face drawn haggard with fear looks up, finding my gaze and seeking what from me I do not know.

A nearby pad that has been holding quietly picks up a sudden flurry of activity as a viper war machine launches rapidly. Station navigation control scream at the ship to move to a safe holding area within the station, they were just as surprised and try to reason with the pilot. The exit is already busy and nearly overloaded, and another ship vying for the same space as the Orca would just be too much.

The shields of the viper glow a brighter reinforced blue and the engine thrusters bleed white as the boost kicks in. Heading straight for the passenger vessel at ramming speed there is no room left to manoeuvre, and the collision spins the Orca into the side of the entrance. The hull snaps in half and bodies start to pour out. Some back into the station while others drift helplessly out past the atmo shields and out into the vacuum of space.

Klaxxons sound and a quick witted tech has started lowering the blast shields. Somehow the viper manages to escape out of the station and the stunned weapon crews struggle to bring their external station weapons into tracking arc.

Ships stop dead inside the station. Hospital shuttles and jetpack crews scramble to recover those floating inside the station. Those left outside turn to scan the wake of the viper, posting their data feeds back to the station before jumping out in pursuit.

Chaos reigns and the co-ordinated escape is disrupted for several hours while the Patreus war machine moves ever closer.

Scanning the bulletin boards has some new missions arrive from system command: fight in this combat zone, hunt that command officer, more supplies needed. Urgently. Always urgently. For once though a delivery time of tens of minutes through the blockade will make a difference here. A special mission has been raised for that viper pilot. I'm tempted.

The Quivirans have surely lost their home world; the Patreus war machine won't be stopped here and now. Help the people flee. Help the people survive.

Neutering the gang

The Alliance has slowly woken up to what is happening on its own back door. The Old Worlds have been suffering at the hands of pirates and brigands and the rot needs to be halted and reversed. Why it takes so long for a consensus to be reached on this is beyond me.

The Zaonce Jet Gang have been identified as major contributors, and a mission profile set up for the independent pilots to take them down. This is bread and butter for a mercenary.

Its also a chance to try out a new combat configuration and settle into a ship that I haven't properly flown before.

...

Three light security Eagles start nipping at the heels of an anaconda. I have to admire their bravery but this clearly isn't going to go far or for long. One limps away to a safe distance with collapsed shields, while the others press the attack.

Boosting into range and opening fire catches the brute by surprise. Those Eagles are nimble and need focus to take down. Turning towards me to engage is too little and too late though, and the hull pops a few moment thereafter.

The police drift off without even acknowledging the debt, searching for the next target.

...

Returning from an R&R at Ridley Scott, the drop into the RES wasn't as smooth as I'd hoped for. Two eagles pounced on me after egress and gamely tried pounding at my shields. How they knew where I was I'll never know: perhaps one of those fortuitous opportunities for a desperate act.

Deploy weapons. Boom. Boom.

Shields barely scratched.

...

The confidence of the local sec forces is visibly growing by the hour. Patrols are larger and, if possible, engage gang members even more aggressively.

The miners continue on, rarely troubled by a pirate or brigand now.

...

Desperation sometimes catches you unaware though, as risks are taken and small groups of pirates can work well together as a team. Multiple ships are thrown into the fray and an Imperial clipper with an anaconda in tow make for harder targets when they're in the same volume of space. Not impossible though as I commit to the engagement.

Bait for a trap however.

Two vipers and a cobra jump in and, with the Zaonce Jet Gang trying some tactics for once, I've actually got a fight against the odds on my hands.

Ducking and weaving around an asteroid and out of the line of sight buys some time. Forcing the pirates to stare into a star creates options and more room to manoeuvre as well. The brief respite gives me some thinking time, and almost at the point of deciding to fall away from the battle using asteroid cover, when something makes me glance towards the blinding light of the sun.

Three security eagles race out of the sun and across my weapon's line of sight, one with heavily scarred and very recent hull damage.

Four ships emerge from behind the asteroid and out of the brightness of the nearby star, where only one had sought concealment. The vipers both peel off in a panic and leave the cobra exposed to withering fire.

My turn not to acknowledge a debt repaid.

...

Finally. Its over.

The space around Zaonce has been reclaimed for the Alliance and the local criminal elements, which have been a significant hindrance over the past few months, have been driven back into their dark hiding holes.

A discreet light blinks on the console signifying an incoming message. I've missed it in all of the combat and hope its nothing too important.

An invite from Gearwright to a tourist market opening up in Quivira. Eyebrows furrow for a moment as there is a lack of... understanding... on my part. It seems to be going on about a holiday.

A quick catch up on GalNet and its clear our old friend Patreus is building up more of his war chest again. So I'm in need of a break after all.

Also a few quiet words to someone about being so bloody obvious!

The quiet before the storm

There was too much at stake.

Lugh stands as a dark reminder of why we talk first. Of why we listen to each other. It is a civilised way to resolve and compromise on differing view points. Much can be achieved without shedding a single life.

The Federation is holding on to all who fall under its protection. Many are united under one banner and welcomed with open arms, and it is so very... very... easy to join. Though once discomfort grows, and circumstances change, it can be found that there are no rules on how to leave. No way to step back outside and say "Thank you, but this is no longer what we want."

Whether won in bloody conflict, or gained through decades of tact and diplomacy, a freedom is earned and defended by those who value it. When the government that you have is no longer the government that you want or can afford then you walk the path of secession.

When leaders and diplomats fail to find a way then there is a civilised war. One that has rules. Where commitments are made and binding contracts are entered into.

Tonight I feel a little cheaper in my soul; in a place where the alcohol cannot dull the pain. Whether signing up to fill your wallet, or protect those you love, the risks are known and understood. Those who have died up until now knew the choices they were making.

Over 9000 civilians dead. Federation civilians in the wrong place. Dead by the hand of their own government.

A civilised war would call that a crime.

The Crimson State Group are desperate enough to take a merc who has fought and killed many of their own. Under contract of course.

Though I may have lost sight of what is right I do still know what is wrong.

No longer am I alone.

A blood dawn at Lugh

I visited Lugh once when I had just started schooling. The people were warm and welcoming and I have fond recollection of a family holiday. Like all childhood memories there are rose tinted moments that have been forgotten... now remembered... and put into light in a way that only a grown mind can comprehend.

A thin red line that was never going to be crossed.

A strange symbol painted on a wall: attractive to a curious young mind but coloured a bright angry red. Father picking up the pace and ushering the family on quickly. Angry voices stirring behind us. Our mother drawing us closer and a question dying on my lips: barely started and quickly shushed.

My memory has no understanding of the loud voices spoken by strangers and in another tongue. My grown up eyes see anger directed at unnamed tourists in the wrong place. We were not local. Not so friendly.

The innocence has gone now and the fierce local pride has spilled over. The desire to have self determination has grown and bloody war has finally dawned in Lugh.

For me there is no great love for the Federation, and childhood memories blunt the call for freedom in Lugh. So I can't quite bring myself to believe either side. That memory 40 years gone has now dulled any passion for the cause.

Perhaps I have become more mercenary in the way that I view the world, especially when fighting battles on behalf of others.

That wasn't expected.

The grinding of teeth - part II

Trouble can still extract a price from those who claim innocence.

Building up a stockpile of rares near Witchhaul should probably carry a health warning; and I've given up on the Fesh as it clearly doesn't travel well. The cannisters were sealed tight but that didn't turn out to be the problem.

I've gotten lazy. Used to authority patrols chasing me I haven't given any where as much thought to pirates. Until one dropped me out of supercruise and demanded half my rares.

I ran. I think it surprised him. Almost as much as it did me.

Still, getting away from an ASP isn't easy. My second mistake was to get back on course to my destination. Pulled out of supercruise again, this time he was better prepared. And a mass inhibit is no fun thing to try and get away from.

I didn't escape.

Shields dropped, limpet attached, all very professional was what I noted in rather clinical detached observation. All seen and done before no doubt. Cargo started spilling out, then my engines were damaged beyond repair and I was drifting and spinning out of control.

Rather than waiting for the final shot I pulled on the escape capsule launch and triggered the self destruct.

The rescue crews were most understanding.

They've had a rush of these recently and have pulled a lot of pilots from their escape capsules. There's a local pirate who enjoys what he's doing and is good at it. I learned something and have also installed some upgrades that have been too long delayed.

I've re-awoken my instincts having clearly grown complacent. Assess the risk before going about my business, and if it doesn't look right then move along. There's always something else to do in a nearby system. Then keep an eye out for anyone who takes an unusual interest.

A shame I didn't think of it at the time: the Wolf Fesh would have been unprofitably fresh and local.