Blood on the Horizon
- Chapter 64 -[]
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The Final Decision[]
Date: October 31th, 3006
Location: Valexa, Federated Suns
"Whelp," I muttered as I signed off on the last major purchase of the year. "We're not in the red, but we're just barely in the black."
I looked up at Captain Johnson.
"Your numbers checked out, and Zarantha was willing to go into the investment with us," I stroked my beard. "Jalastar was willing to sell and transport the factory as well."
"They probably need the building space for the Sabres they're manufacturing now," She shrugged. "But we need the fighters, and even if they're lights, they'll be a good anchor for us."
"Agreed."
"I do have one question, though," Alice said, flipping through a folder in her hands. "Did we ever get an ETA on the DroST refits?"
"They won't be done until June or July of next year," I rolled up my right sleeve and scratched at my tattoo. "The original refits didn't take up that much interior space, so we could do the refits fairly easily. But these new ones will require us to strip them down and reinforce the interior structure before adding the weapons. Work like that takes time, and if we didn't already have the Protector owing us a favor, we wouldn't even be able to get them done in this short timeframe. We'd still be waiting until 3008 or 9 at the earliest."
"Fucking wait times," the Captain rested her chin on her hands and looked down at the desk for a minute, a blond hair falling over her eyes before she tucked it back into her bun. "Well, I'm glad we planned Tybalt without them in mind."
"We're going to plan all of our ops without them in mind," I replied. "And we're not refitting all of our DroSTs right away. The expense isn't worth it right now, and we still need them for transport."
I paused and glanced at my watch. The next training exercise had been concluded by now, and the reports should be handed in soon.
"We're going to have to cut this short," I stood up and grabbed my uniform jacket and hat. "We've got more to go over for the assault."
Uneasiness of the Mission Prospects[]
Date: December 25th, 3006
On Route to Tybalt, Capellan Confederation
It would take a couple of weeks before we were at Tybalt, and I was all but certain that things were going to go wrong once we launched our assault.
This was supposed to be a coordinated retaliation by the Federated Suns on various worlds in the Capellan Confederation. Still, I had a feeling that there wouldn't be as many units ready to launch as we were. We were one of the minor units attacking, and we'd only been running training for our objectives, but the other units were assembling while we were training. And I knew they would only be able to do a fraction of what was planned.
I was stressed and knew it, so I went to Jumpship's gym and found something to do. As I worked through the exercises I'd self-assigned, I slowly worked the stress out of my system. Finally, I stood, wiped some sweat off my brow, and exhaled slowly.
We had prepared as much as we were capable of. Anything that happened once we began our approach was now out of our hands, aside from how we would react to the unexpected.
Warm Welcoming[]
Date: February 5th, 3007
Location: Tybalt, Capellan Confederation
"Launch fighters," Captain Vincent Harling, AKA Mother Goose, ordered from his seat in the captain's chair of the Leopard CV class carrier Galaxy. "Tell Wardog that Thunderhead will be heading up 3CI at this time."
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Leopard CV Class Fighter Carrier dropship, Galaxy
"Aww, man," Chopper complained. "Thunderhead's always riding my case."
"That's because you're always running your mouth," Thunderhead's comms officer replied. Now focus up; we don't know who's going to be engaging on entry."
As the Marksman dropships neared the atmosphere, the Capellan aerospace fighters rose to meet them, hoping to stop the mercenary force from landing.
But the Capellans were outnumbered and outmatched. Wardog and Hitman Squadrons were veterans in the void; they'd been flying as a part of the Outworlds Alliance for decades before going mercenary, and all of their skills were applied now.
The furball started large and then shrunk as pilots on both sides were damaged and eventually ejected.
"Archer, you're at armor state red; you need to RTB for a reamer." Thunderhead ordered.
"I can't shake them!" the veteran screamed, the lone Ace on his tail shredding his fusion engine and sending him spinning into the black.
"Someone follow Archer's trajectory!" Mother Goose barked. "And get S&R teams on standby."
Then, a few minutes later, the furball was gone, the Capellan fighters were gone, and the Marksman dropships entered the atmosphere, escorted by the remaining fighters.
"We've got Archer's and Crow's transponders," the sensors officer reported to the S&R teams. "Feeding coordinates and projected trajectories now."
The small craft launched and began to head for the pilots, marking down the Capellan pilots that had ejected as well for rescue after their own had been taken care of. No one would be left to die in the void, not if it was possible to save any of them.
Battlefield Awareness[]
Date: February 7th, 3007
Location: Tybalt, Capellan Confederation
"What are you doing?" Major Constance Vaultaine leaned over the small holotable in her HQ.
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Small tracked Command HQ Vehicle
"Ma'am, one of the staff officers knocked on the door. "I've got the MRB reports that you requested."
"Set them there," she pointed to a nearby table. "I'll have someone go through them in a minute."
The junior officer did as instructed and then waited for another task.
"Any reports on enemy troop movements?" Constance grabbed the small sheath of papers and began skimming the MRB report on the merc unit that had just made landfall.
"Negative, ma'am," the officer reported. "They're remaining out of reach of any static defenses, and we can't hit them with artillery, or their aerospace assets will take out our artillery."
"Shit!" Constance slammed her fist on the table. "They've got something up their sleeves. No unit just sits and waits for the enemy to come to them. Even if they've got the superior defensive position."
"We do have them outnumbered," a noncom reminded her. "The militia would swarm them if they attempted anything too risky. That kind of damage doesn't allow for a good payday when they leave."
"They don't abandon contracts or just follow the letter of," the major tossed the MRB report onto the table, the papers sliding a bit and revealing their MRB rating. "They might not be true veterans, but they've been in constant combat or training of some sort since they were founded. We can't underestimate them just because they're new."
She glanced at the clock on the holo and began issuing orders. "I want round-the-clock security on our base. We missed something, and I don't want a surprise attack to shred us."
She looked at the door, expecting Saint Murphy to have started to bug her right there, and was pleasantly surprised when no flashbangs or enemy troops rolled through the door."
"You've got your orders, people; now move!"
What goes bump in the Dark[]
"You ever wonder why we're here?" Lance Corporal Jin Trang asked over the radio, his Stinger swinging back and forth to illuminate sections of the darkness that his other vision modes might have missed.
"No, I don't have to wonder why we're here," Force Leader Frank Cosca sighed, his Phoenix Hawk almost sagging as he responded. "We're both here on second shift because someone fucked up and got us assigned to night guard duty instead of day guard."
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Phoenix Hawk Medium 'Mech
"Not my fault," Tarkovsky replied. "The duty roster was unclear."
"No, you just don't know how to properly fucking read," Trang retorted. "Even Jason's mad at you. He won't even respond on the radio."
"Jason," Trang paused, his radio crackling as he flipped his sensors into different modes, his voice shifting away from the playful tone it'd been in before. "Force leader,"
"I'm aware," Cosca turned his Phoenix Hawk back to look at the base. "Something's jamming us, and we've lost Jason; we need to RTB."
Trang thought he saw something move in the corner of his cockpit and gulped, his fingers squeezing lightly on the triggers and firing one of his Medium lasers.
"Watch your fire!" Tarkovsky growled, his Panther having narrowly avoided the green beams that briefly shone and illuminated the night.
"Sorry," Trang muttered. "I thought I saw something."
The trio moved back through the now-open gates into darkness. The lights had all been shut off, and the base was dark; the only illumination was from their own searchlights.
"What happened to everyone?" Tarkovsky asked, shifting to look back at the gates.
"Shit," Trang and Tarkovsky heard Cosca mutter before his Phoenix Hawk disappeared on their sensors and IFFs.
Then, Trang heard something knock on his cockpit door, and he paused. Glancing up at the top of his cockpit glass, he finally realized what had happened to the others.
"Well… Fuck."