SORTIE:02
Morose and
cholic
The void
freezes the blood cold
Bitter war
blossoms.
Zetsubou
Wolfhound-class
prototype Mech-Armour
<< in communication with >>
Conference Room
USNS
Haephaestus
Forge-class patrol carrier
Forge-class patrol carrier
Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey
Avril
21st,
2213
0635 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]
“You.
Are. Completely.
MAD!”
“I did warn you, Ice,” came the reply as he exhaled a gust of
smoke. It swirled and faded as the recycling filters silently kicked
in. “A week's notice, actually. It went pretty alright, all things
considered.”
“I'm
not one of your pilots any more, Commander,” snapped Antione. “And
you could've been killed and your Mech – which is more valuable
than you, I might add - turned into so much scrap. Damn it, Smoke, we
were using live
rounds for everything.”
“Blah-blah-blah. Then write me up and put me on charges, Ice. It's
not like they'll take me away to rot on Charon or Uranus. I'd choose
Charon, though, heard Uranus frackin' stinks. ”
He
shrugged as a conference chair flew at the screen and bounced off the
ceiling, clattering loudly to the floor. More smoke was exhaled as he
scratched at his forehead under his rolled up balaclava. How
on earth did she manage that? Those things are bolted to the deck!
He leaned back in his seat, poker-faced, as the XO Antione stood
quivering with fists clenched and glaring at him through the screen.
“Commander, could you please take this seriously?”
The
quiet tones of the Captain Theorés
Rafael Harlington broke the deadlock between Antione and Smoke. Smoke
shifted his attention and addressed the captain.
“Sir. I am.”
“Explain yourself then, Commander.”
“Aye, Sir. The ship's crew needs to be drilled and tested. Ice has
handled the drill and practice, but they've had no test. Loading
dummy rounds and sensors will give the crew warning which then
defeats the purpose of a test as well as, more importantly, leaving
us momentarily defenceless in the case of a sudden assault by
hostiles. We're still in contested territory. Sir.”
The
captain nodded slightly, a finger tracing the line of his moustache.
Smoke had couched his answer in understated, political correct speech
for the benefit of the recording devices. He's
learning, that's good, thought
the captain.
“But still, Commander, it was a reckless move. You endangered your
life and the sanctity of your machine.”
“Acceptable risk, Sir.”
“You
are not just a pilot any more, Smoke. You lead the entire squadron,”
interjected Antione in admonishment. The captain sighed.
“Well aware of that, Ice. Contingency plan was for you or Panzer to
take over until a replacement can be found. IF I died, that is.”
“Oh,
so you thought of everything,
did you?”
The
captain pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. If he wasn't
already sitting in a chair, he would've sat down on the floor. Mother
did tell me that there'd be days like this.
He sighed again.
“Well, I do try to cover all the bases.”
“Well, COVER THIS!”
Another
conference chair flew through the air, right through the holographic
screen and crashed against a wall. Smoke didn't even flinch, instead
just raising an eyebrow. She
is well and truly pissed off, I'm lucky that I ain't there. And
seriously, though, how the hell
is she throwing those chairs?
“This
ship and its crew needs you and your machine in one piece. Your
squadron needs you.
You can't keep risking your life recklessly and without a thought or
care, damn it!”
Antione was screaming, fists balled so tight that the knuckles were
going white. Her nails bit into her palm, breaking the skin. Smoke
and the captain sat quietly as she raged, berating Smoke. Finally,
almost spent, she asked in a hoarse voice, “Smoke, for frack's
sake, why do you keep doing things like this, constantly throwing
yourself in harm's way?”
Smoke replied laconicallly, almost inaudible, “Because I'm a combat
pilot... and I've been living on borrowed time for far too long.”
Smoke cut the connection before either his captain or XO could reply,
switching back to First-Person-Flying as the VR-HUD plates of his
helmet extended once again to encase his face.
“For far too long while good people die all around me,” he said,
his voice filled with morose and melancholy.
Quickly
typing a short flight order, he beamed it back to the Haephaestus.
He exhaled slowly, flicking his cigarette stub away,
and rolled his head around his shoulders, hearing a satisfying crick.
Firing his thrusters, he rocketed up and over the asteroid whose
surface he'd been cruising across.
In the zero-gravity of his cockpit, the stub of his cigarette tumbled
in place.
---
Ground Crew Offices
USNS Haephaestus
Forge-class patrol carrier
0640 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]
The dark-skinned redhead flicked the
remote's buttons, rewinding the holo-video of Smoke's flight through
the gauntlet of the Haephaestus' defense batteries. Her mouth
was pressed tightly together as she watched the replay.
She flicked another button, pausing the
video. Manipulating the little joystick on the remote, she zoomed in
closer for a view of Smoke's Mech. Her mouth moved silently as she
noticed the crystallised shards trailing behind the machine.
Zooming further in and adjusting the
resolution, she saw the minute fractures and fissures that were
spread like multiple latticed webs throughout the lower right leg,
lost amongst the furrows dug by flak. And the dark colour of the
fluids that were slowly leaking through and crystallising in the
vacuum.
Xell flung the remote as she ran out the door, screaming for Panzer.
---
Bridge, The Johannes Run
Mule-class cargo hauler
Jovian Coreward Trade Run
Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey
0644 hours Shipboard Time [SBT]
The crew clung onto their seats and
consoles as the ship shuddered, the tortured groans of the ship's
hull filling their ears.
“She honestly can't take much more of
this, Cap'n!”
“Terribly cliched, Mister Fisk,
terribly cliched,” came the calm, cold reply.
“Even so, Cap'n, even so, it's the
still the fracking truth!”
A shrill shriek and the smell of singed
meat filled the bridge until the ventilators kicked in and cycled the
air. “Now, remember what I've said about propriety, Mister
Fisk. I will not have any foul mouths aboard this vessel.”
The rest of the bridge crew stared at
the smoking form of Fisk, the damage control officer. The
electroshock had burned him badly, cooking his skin from underneath
as the spike had buried itself an inch under his skin before it
triggered. But he was still alive. Barely. A crewman quickly carried
him off the bridge, while another rushed to take his place.
“Except my bloody own, of course.”
It was a strange moment, the battle
raging outside overshadowed by the act of cruel 'discipline'. Time
crawled to a halt. The trembling and shuddering of the ship went
unnoticed in . Armillo Thrann, captain of the Johannes Run,
smiled coldly and steepled his fingers together. He sank deeper into
his plush throne in the center of the bridge. His eyes washed slowly
over the comely communications officer.
“Miss Emett, please do tell me
that someone has responded to our distress transmission.”
The petite redhead at the
communications station swallowed, a cold knot of fear tightening in
her stomach. Her mouth was dry and she could barely speak. She spat
out in a squeak, “No, captain, not at this time!”
She clutched the sides of her station
as the ship shuddered violently and listed to the port. Several of
the bridge crew fell out of their seats while a few clung
white-knuckled to their stations.
Armillo breathed out noisily, his
frustration evident on his face as his fingers dug into the arms of
his throne.
“This is rather trying for
business.”
---
Port Cargo Module
The Johannes Run
Mule-class cargo hauler
Jovian Coreward Trade Run
Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey
“Godddamm-URRRGH!”
Flight Officer Zenna Marsalas cried out
in pain as she was sent crashing into a stack of plasticrates by the
latest violent shudder as the Johannes Run fired its manoeuvre
thrusters wildly. She pushed herself up, coughing and gasping for
breath.
She shook her head and swore when she
got her breath back. She looked up and saw her ground crew strewn
across the hold like broken dolls. All of them wore their combat EVA
suits, prepared for decompression in case of a hull breach. The
ship's artificial gravity was still active and the hold was still
pressurised, contrary to combat regulations.
These factors were not doing the suited
up spacers any favours.
In the momentary calm of the straining
ship, they scrambled for handholds, anything that would keep them
upright.
Zenna had just wrapped her hand around
a cargo restraint when the ship lurched again, sending one of her
ground crew careening into her. Both of them went down in a heap, her
arm pulled and stretched agonisingly at the socket.
Blinking back tears, she cursed and
swore.
---
Starboard Cargo Module
The
Johannes Run
Mule-class cargo hauler
Jovian Coreward Trade Run
Asteroid Belt, Sector Delta-Whiskey
More cursing and swearing was being
conducted in the opposite hold.
Valkyrie Flight's ground crew were
scrambling for handholds and cover as its three pilots watched on
from their cockpits. They'd been unpacking and assembling their Mechs
just before the ship's erratic manoeuvring had begun. The ground crew
had been working feverishly to certify the Mechs fit for operation.
But unless the ship's captain
de-pressurised the hold, they were stuck.
They were just spectators.
And inaction didn't sit well with them.
---
... being the second chapter.
