Tales From the Service: Unease at Hausen's

2952-08-07 – Tales From the Service: Unease at Hausen's 

Less than two hours after Admiral Donnell’s ships destroyed the lone Tyrant cruiser present in Hausen’s and scattered the smaller elements of the Incarnation defenses, Ernest Espinoza started its orbital insertion maneuver. 

There wasn’t much for anyone on the bridge to do once the navcomputer was executing the deceleration routine, so several of Espinoza’s bridge crew stood and stretched their cramped limbs. Most of the observers hanging around at the rear of the over-large space had already departed by this time, except for Lieutenant Commander Namgung, who was still technically on duty, and two off-duty techs who had been huddled in excited conversation for most of the previous hour. 

Captain Coretta Fuentes stood at the center of the bridge with her arms folded behind her back, her eyes on one of the secondary status displays. “Open port and starboard bays. Charge all deployment rails.” 

Bleary-eyed Lieutenant Kanzaki, who had refused to surrender his console to the second-shift ensign, tapped out a few commands, reached up to the second level of his console and flipped a series of hardware switches. “Charging rails.” 

Coretta nodded. To power the system, a cruiser-grade star-drive had been broken up for its capacitor arrays; these would take at least a few minutes to charge. “Mister Rademaker, clear the bays.” 

“The last techs are evacuating now, Captain.” Basil Rademaker’s voice came from the speaker system; he was below, supervising Espinoza’s special deployment machinery from a command annex adjacent to the machines themselves. 

“Time to orbit?” Coretta turned to the helm station. 

The ensign at the helm glanced down at her console. “A little over six minutes.” 

Coretta turned away and beckoned to Namgung. “Commander, I apologize for taking over your duty shift. You may proceed.” 

Namgung stood and saluted. “Aye, Captain.” He looked around the bridge. “Do you want to be recalled when we are ready to deploy?” 

Coretta shook her head. “Execute whenever Donnell gives the order. I’m going below.” 

The solitude of the slow civilian-model lift left Corretta plenty of time to think. The cold ballistic course gamble had been a clever one, but it didn’t feel right to her that it was the best option left for the Incarnation to defend such a strategic outpost as Hausen’s World. The Incarnation never gambled, not when it didn’t need to – it coldly arranged favorable battles and worked to extricate itself from unfavorable ones. Even the raids at Sagittarius Gate were not so much a gamble as they were a constant pressure which succeeded at interfering with Seventh Fleet operations even if they did no damage; the damage they inflicted every so often seemed to be almost a bonus in their calculations.  

Again, she returned to the question of why the enemy force in Hausen’s had fought at all. From the looks of things, that cruiser had been a cripple anyway, its escape unlikely, but the crews of several perfectly serviceable frigates and who knew how many strike pilots had been sacrificed to give that wounded beast more hope for its final charge. That seemed almost like a sentimental decision rather than a tactical one. 

Fortunately, Coretta was only a ship captain; she needed not divine the chip-twisted thoughts of Incarnation admirals. When the lift disgorged her onto Deck Six, she was nowhere nearer solving the puzzle than when she had started. With a sigh, she headed forward to the ship’s gym, hoping she had time for a short workout before turning in. 

The problem was still bothering her when she finished changing out of her uniform into exercise attire, so Coretta connected her earpiece to the bridge. “Commander, I’ve got this feeling Nate’s not done with us yet. Are we still doing regular sensor sweeps?” 

“The escorts are.” Namgung paused, as if realizing this meant a negative answer. “I’ll have one done every ten minutes.” 

“Thank you.” Coretta cut the channel, switched her earpiece over to music, and stepped out into the gym compartment. In Espinoza’s civilian career, the space had been some sort of social hall, and it had excellent viewpanels facing forward, which now framed the blue-green orb of Hausen’s world. Coretta took a long moment to appreciate the sight. She’d never seen a planet, living or dead, from Espinoza. The last one she’d seen from any ship was Maribel, dwindling away behind Sable Diver as it started the long trek across to Sagittarius Gate. Looking down at it, she could almost feel cool grass between her toes, and feel a gentle breeze rustling her hair. 

Coretta froze. Her trained spacer’s eye had picked up movement between Espinoza and the inviting orb far below. She stepped up to the viewpanel and pressed her forehead to it, as if a meter’s difference might bring the object close enough for inspection. There was definitely a dark mote down there, in a lower and roughly perpendicular orbit to the one her ship was settling into, but she couldn’t see any detail from such a long distance. 

Once again, Corretta called in a channel to the bridge. “Mister Namgung, what’s in orbit below us right now?” 

“Not much. A few launch-scale survey craft from the escort force.” Namgung paused. “Why?” 

“Saw something out the viewpanel. It could be one of those launches. Sensors don’t show anything out there?” 

“Nothing that doesn’t have a Seventh Fleet IFF code.” 

Coretta sighed. There was no way the sensors on even a second-line ship like Espinoza could miss anything close enough to be visible to the naked eye. “Understood. Carry on.” 

The speck was gone by the time Coretta signed off the connection to Namgung, but she kept her eyes glued on the viewpanel for the entirety of her exercise routine. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Nate had one last card to play at Hausen’s World. 

If the Incarnation did indeed have additional tricks up its sleeve to foil Operation HELLESPONT, these tricks were never employed; the operation continued as planned after the defenders were driven out of the system, and the small Incarnation depot on the planet’s surface was found to be bare and devoid of garrison. 

The feeling that things went too well stuck with many of the participants who I have spoken to, and even though the enemy was able to mitigate the impact of the success of this offensive, few of those involved really believe that the attack was unexpected. It is a strange quirk of this conflict that, though the Confederated Worlds is undoubtedly winning at this stage, those fighting on the front line believe that the enemy planners are several steps ahead.  

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Tales from the Service: A Pilot’s Last Words

2952-08-21 – Tales from the Service: A Pilot’s Last Words 

There are plenty of stories from Operation HELLESPONT that are worth featuring, but the war marches on, and we cannot spend too much time on an event nearly a month past now. 

That being said, we could not pass this tale up, and will be devoting today’s entry and next week’s to it. 

Though this was hardly Livian Vega’s first brush with death, she reflected that perhaps the first time she hadn’t done it right. After all, maybe if she had, she might have had something more fitting prepared for her potential last words than an undignified squeak of terror on the squadron comms channel. 

Livian had plenty of time to consider for the next time. After the ejection booster separated from her back, she drifted free in zero-gee, watching seconds of her atmospheric reserve trickle away. There wasn’t much else to watch; the skirmish which had claimed her Puma interceptor was over before her booster had even finished its run, and the squadron had moved forward toward the objective planet far ahead. Any further fighting would be invisible to her without some serious magnification that her flight-suit helmet didn’t provide. 

Eventually, someone in one of the rescue tugs would come by and broadcast the signal that would activate her recovery transponder, and Livian would be hauled back to Frostbill for a good-natured ribbing about losing another interceptor. There was some talk in the ready room that Incarnation ships sometimes spoofed the transponder signal in order to scoop up stranded pilots, but with the action moving away and a friendly force of heavy ships coming up from behind, that didn’t seem much of a risk here. 

One of these times, the ejection system would fail, or the plasma lance that bit into her craft would catch the cockpit and cut her into two scorched pieces. She knew the risks; everyone did, and death was something she prepared for on every launch. Still, buying the plot with the last thing anyone heard from her being a terrified whimper was unacceptable. 

Among strike pilots, there was a canonical set of famous, effective last words that communicated that the doomed pilot was taking their fate with heroic aplomb, but none of these seemed to fit her situation. She had no lover or spouse to think of in her last moments, nor a relative in the service who she could pass the proverbial torch to. There was no directory of embarrassing files her compatriots would need to delete. 

Going out silently was respectable, but it was hardly memorable, and Livian wanted to be memorable enough that the squadron would tell stories about her for the rest of the war after she bought her plot. Normally, she was the queen of snappy one-liners, especially in combat, and they almost always came to her spontaneously; it would be a let-down to her compatriots if she went out in silence. 

There were referential options, of course. Nobody really remembered anymore which holo-drama first used the phrase “They came from behind-” as last words for a strike-jock but it was in enough of them that everyone knew it from somewhere. There were others in the same vein, but Livian didn’t like any of them. 

Going into this battle, she’d drilled herself on the phrase “See you on the other side” as her potential last words, but when the shot had drilled her Puma’s engine and all the indicators had gone red, the phrase had fled her mind. True, there had been precious little time before the ejection system kicked in, but there had been just enough. 

“Should have gone with something shorter.” Livian grumbled to herself. “Later, suckers? Pah, that’s terrible.” 

Normally, Livia kept a few audio dramas on her personal network for situations such as this, but this time, she preferred the silent company of the green orb which all this fighting contested. The glimmering crescent appeared in front of her for about two minutes out of every five, and when it vanished in the lower right corner of her faceplate, she knew the local star would soon rotate into view and the smart-glass panel would become almost totally opaque for two more minutes to keep its blinding light out of her eyes. Did Earth look half so pretty from space, she wondered? It hardly seemed possible that it could. 

“Looks like I’m going home.” Livian muttered. “Hey, that’s not bad...” 

The transponder emitted a bright chime that indicated that it was transmitting. Normally, this sound would recur every thirty seconds or so, but to Livian’s surprise, there was no second chime. 

“Damnation.” Livian switched on her comms transmitter. “Recovery tug, please respond. I think my transponder just shorted out.” 

Livia waited until the planet reappeared in front of her, but there was no response on any band. 

“Recovery tug, can you hear me?” Livia could hear the worry in her voice this time, and she didn’t like how it sounded. If her transponder was broken, how could anyone ever find her? The range of a suit transmitter was horribly small. 

As the planet crept out of view once more, and the faceplate dimmed in preparation for the direct assault of the local star, there was still no response. 

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Tales from the Service: A Pilot’s Narrow Escape

2952-08-28 – Tales from the Service: A Pilot’s Narrow Escape 

[2952-08-30: I must confess that the delay in this item reaching feed ingest is entirely my own fault. I thought I had it scheduled properly, and Nojus and I went away from our quarters aboard Ashkelon for several days on an errand which I will perhaps be discussing in this space in the near future, and we were quite out of datasphere contact for most of that time. I returned to a very full inbox complaining about the lack of this week’s Tales from the Service.]

I found the item sitting waiting for final confirmation on my terminal when I got back to Ashkelon; it really is as simple as me failing to hit the final button. 

Though Lieutenant Livian Vega’s account is not official proof that our foe is taking captive stranded pilots, even on battlefields they are actively retreating from, it is strong evidence of such efforts. The numbers appear to be small; few enough pilots go missing after ejecting that equipment failure and other causes can explain their disappearance. What they mean to achieve by capturing pilots in this way, I cannot imagine. 

Livian Vega scanned the status panel on her wrist with a frown. There was no problem indicator for her recovery transponder, or for any other system. The only amber light was the one indicating that the power and atmospherics linkage to her Puma interceptor had been severed, but given that the Puma had exploded shortly after she’d ejected, this was no cause for concern. 

She switched the transponder off and on again several times, but it still refused to transmit the recovery signal. This meant that either there was no recovery ship in range, or that it was broken. She could activate it manually, but the transponder would drain her battery quickly. If no recovery ship was nearby to hear it, she would be down to emergency reserve power in less than an hour. 

Lilian decided to switch on the transponder anyway, but only for a minute. Sure enough, when she did, she heard a bright ping in her ears. As she watched the chrono count up to thirty seconds, she didn’t expect to hear a second chime, but sure enough, one sounded. The transponder now seemed to be working perfectly. 

Frowning, Lilian went over what she knew about the transponder. Fortunately, since she’d found herself ejected and waiting for recovery several times throughout her service with Seventh Fleet, she had been given more opportunity than most pilots to observe the device’s functionality. In theory, when a recovery craft came into range, the transponder would respond to a coded signal by activating automatically. It could always be enabled and disabled manually, but before now she’d never had to do this. 

Reaching over her shoulder, Livian verified that the suit’s comms antenna was fully extended. If this was broken off or still stowed in its spool, that would explain weird behavior of both transmission and reception. She found it locked in the deployed position, and the portion of it she could feel with her gloves was intact and undamaged. 

The transponder chirped a third time, indicating that a minute had elapsed. Livian shut it back off to save power. The recovery craft had much more powerful comms gear, so she doubted it was near enough to hear her, if her systems were not receiving its signal. As she did, a shiver started at the base of her spine and worked its way up to her head. She lacked any ability to diagnose the problem further, and in any case, it might be too late; if a glitch had kept the recovery ship from noticing her, it would be far out of range now. 

“They won’t leave me out here.” Livian’s voice sounded hollow inside her helmet. “They’ve got time to do a full sweep after the fighting dies down.” 

As she rotated back toward the local star and her faceplate began to dim, Livian thought she spotted something moving in the corner of her vision. She turned to look at it, but already the smart-glass was nearly opaque to protect her vision from the local star. Probably it was nothing more than a piece of shrapnel from her Puma catching the light, but she couldn’t be sure, and the last thing she needed was more uncertainty. 

When the faceplate cleared a little while later, Livian scanned what she could see of her surroundings without turning her face into the light again. There was nothing visible but empty space; no sign of a piece of glinting shrapnel. Livian felt a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead. What had she seen? 

Once again, her transponder emitted a bright ping, indicating that it had received the recovery signal. Maybe what she’d seen was the recovery vehicle doubling back? 

“Recovery tug, my transponder might not be working right. Do you read?” Livian tried to keep the nervous tension out of her voice. 

“We’ve locked onto your position, Lieutenant Vega.” The faint, unfamiliar voice was all too welcome. “Your biometrics are out. Are you injured?” 

“I’m fine. Having some tech issues with my suit, I think.” Livian chuckled. “Nothing serious. In fact-” 

A dark shape moved in the darkness ahead of Livian, and she broke off. The recovery tug would come in with its lights all ablaze; what was this? 

Using a little bit of her limited thruster capacity to slow her spin, Livian tried to pick out the shape in the darkness. Whatever it was didn’t reflect much starlight, and she could only estimate its size and shape by the faint stars it occluded. She could tell it was getting slowly closer; its path and hers were converging. 

Shivering, Livian wondered whether she should call the recovery ship and announce what she was seeing. Would they believe her? Could they do anything? Would raising the alarm by radio only serve to draw its attention further? 

The transponder chirped again, and Livian, already nervous, nearly jumped out of her skin. She was already transmitting for anyone to see. What if this skulker was using the signal to intercept her? The ready-room rumors of Incarnation ships spiriting away stranded pilots once again came to mind. 

“Not me.” Livian, trembling, switched off her transponder once more. “Better to be lost out here.” With a few strong bursts of her thrusters, she changed her trajectory drastically, and the dark shape began to recede once more. 

“Lieutenant Vega, we lost your transponder signal.” The recovery ship pilot sounded concerned. “Is everything all right?” 

Livian didn’t dare transmit a reply; she simply watched the dark shape slowly dwindling into the void as the increasingly urgent trasmissions from her rescuer echoed dully in her ears. 

 

 

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Tales from the Inbox: The Pilgrim’s Task

2952-09-04 – Tales from the Inbox: The Pilgrim’s Task 

Some of you might remember that years ago, we featured the account of one Thomas Nyilvas as to the redemption of a Confederated Worlds youth turned Immortal saboteur. Nyilvas himself would go on to his storied end on Margaux, but up until this point we have had no further account of the doings of the Immortal who he sought to redeem at great personal risk, at least until today. 

The vessel name and the name of its skipper are not genuine (as is prudent on the part of the submitter), but I have heard through other channels that one Ayaka Rowlins did indeed go rogue from the place the Navy had assigned her some months ago. 

“Are you sure about this, Miss Rowlins?“ Emilio B. leaned on the railing of the elevated catwalk at the bow end of Fey Wanderer’s small hangar. 

The woman below didn’t look up; she continued to work at the module she’d pulled out of the launch craft berthed there. Emilio hadn’t seen anything like this launch before; it bore a slight resemblance to that long-time favorite of mercenary service, the Savitri Seax, but it was a bit larger and had clearly seen a lot of use and heavy modification. If present evidence was to be believed, Rowlins herself had been the author of at least some of these changes. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, Wanderer can get you there, but you aren’t paying us for a pickup. Just a drop off. In enemy territory.” 

Ayaka Rowlins paused and looked up. “Would it buy your silence if I paid for you to return in a few weeks?” 

Emilio frowned. “Would you be here for us to pick up?” 

Rowlins turned her attention back to her work without answering. 

“We’ve run people into occupied worlds like this before, but usually they at least plan to come back." Emilio gestured to the craft she was working on. “You’ve got a fancy ride all prepared. You’ve clearly thought all this through.” 

Rowlins hunched her shoulders, then slowly set her tools down and stood up, scowling. “If you would please come to the point, Captain?” 

Emilio shuddered as her cold eyes met his. “Well... I just mean, I’m happy to take your credits, but the crew and I need some assurances that this isn’t-” 

“That this isn’t something that’ll get you branded as traitors?” Rowlins’s face softened, and she shook her head. “You need not worry on that account.” 

“If you don’t intend on returning, then why should we not worry?” Emilio countered. “Self-directed suicide mission is a pretty thin story.” 

Rowlins smiled. “I see. You think that if I am not scheduling a return, that suicide or treason are my most probable intents.” She glanced back at her craft for a moment. “Will a brief explanation buy your silence until we have arrived? I have many things to finish before I launch.” 

Emilio nodded. “I suppose so.” 

Rowlins arched one eyebrow, then bent her knees and, without any apparent difficulty, leapt three meters up to the catwalk and landed lightly beside him. Emilio staggered back in terror and reached for his sidearm; even in shipboard half-gee, even if she was acclimated to the gravity of the heaviest world in the Reach, such a jump shouldn’t be possible. 

His fingers, however, found the holster already empty, and the gun, now with the magazine removed, was in the girl’s hands. “I’ve already tried treason, once. I was young and stupid, and I failed at it, like I’d failed at everything else I’d done to that point.” She held the weapon back to Emilio. “Only one person believed I might still be worth a damn.” 

Emilio took the gun with trembling hands, wondering where the magazine had gone. He had plenty of spares, of course, but the meaning of this demonstration was obvious – if Ayaka Rowlins had intended him and his crew any harm, she could have easily accomplished it by now. 

“Despite what I let Nate do to my body, that man still did what he could for my soul, and he helped me find that I had another chance in this life as well as the next.” Rawlins bowed her head. “And then he and I parted ways. His route led to Margaux.”  

Emilio nodded. “You think he’s still down there?” 

“I know he is. I spoke to one who was with him at the end and was evacuated.” She bowed her head. “He was in a group of captives processed by the Incarnate Inquisition, and they made a martyr of him.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Emilio didn’t know what else to say. “If he’s dead, what do you think you can do?” 

Rowlins shook her head. “For him? Nothing. He has crossed over. But I will visit his grave nonetheless.” 

“And then?” This plan of course, did not preclude a return trip. 

“Once I have done this, I intend to find out what has become of the Inquisition team responsible.” Rawlins smiled, and this time it was a very unkind smile indeed. “And perhaps I will pay them a visit.” 

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