Thrust Vector - Log 1.1: Decimator
Somehow the air was different here. The field of endless grass beneath Alek’s feet was broken by the fragile pedals of thousands of white flowers, the dirt below a solid mass of unshifting, unmoving creation. Above, the distant sky was an impossible shade of blue, peppered with unseeable clouds.
The girl stood there. A brilliantly white sundress fluttering in the warm wind, atop snow shaded hair a hat woven with real straw was held by her hand in the blowing breeze. In deep crimson eyes, she smiled. Her mouth opened as she uttered unheard words taken by the blowing wind.
A name arrives into Alek’s mind, a single word that was utterly incomprehensible. His body rises, the feeling of some unobtainable emotion overwhelming the very being of Alek’s fragile human existence.
“Alek…” Her words reach him like a distant echo.
His mouth opens, but words cease to come.
“I will be here.” Her smile screams into the sky, the wind waving grass like some primordial ocean. “Always.”
The turbo propeller engines increase in pitch as the craft descends in altitude. Alek is rocked awake by the violent vibrations of the civilian airframe, the craft designed more towards comfort in flight rather than landing.
“Preparing for final approach at Ledenoft.” The Civilian pilot speaks over the announcement system, his voice calm and collected. “All passengers please secure themselves.”
Alek snaps out of his post sleep shock, his service in the military giving him the inhuman trait of scrambling into lucidity mere seconds out of deep sleep.
Nothing was changed of course. For most of the flight, Alek’s self imposed unconsciousness kept him away from the terrifying reality of civilian air travel. The concept of putting life in the hands of a salvaged airframe hundreds of years old, rusted and repaired in constant usage for many more, was completely unthinkable… ironically.
The act of putting your own existence into your own hands was only one with the pilots of vectors. Their lives were constantly perched on the precipice of death, with every battle holding the specter of the beyond; a single rifled bullet to the wrong engine was a sudden gust of wind to the fragile candle of life.
Even if fate was to be decided without human input, they all wanted to die with at least the semblance of control, corrupted with the knowledge of death.
These people around Alek, however, were innocent, with most of their lives moved through the streets of the flying city states unknowing of their frail existence a thousand meters above the W layer.
Out of the passengers present in the cabin, almost two hundred at count, Alek was the only one who was military. On his worn fatigues, Alek’s left shoulder was marked with a patch; the broken stars of the Consortium Military, his uniform lacking the normally found unit identifier. On his right, the spread eagle clutching a singular rocket was woven into fabric: the open wings of pure flight, the talons of fire.
The Vector Corps.
They’ve all watched the propaganda. The barely visible frames of war machines engaged in combat, the sound of fission engines roaring over the noise of battle ingrained from hours of declassified combat footage. The vector was the sword; a precious, irreplaceable tool. And the pilot was its legendary wielder. The precision, the control, the reflexes needed to even fly such a craft was beyond that of a normal human.
Instead, the vector pilot was an ascended being. The embodiment of power, the masters of the modern war. Warrior gods forged in flesh and salvaged steel.
And here was one. Sitting within the same cramped conditions as the mortals beneath him, a real, tangible pilot.
Nobody spoke unnecessarily, at the feet of a god, who dares raise a voice?
For Alek, this discomfort came under orders. Taking a vector from Ryoko, the travel time between the two city states would’ve been less than two hours. But the intermail message drafted directly from Admiral Balmer came with specific instructions, and even more specific tickets.
Now, four hours into the civilian flight, Alek was finally arriving at the stated destination.
The eight engined civilian transport makes one last holding pattern, a long, lazy circle around the spread plains of the City State of Ledenoft.
Outside the airframe Alek could take it in. Kilometer long open air hydroponic facilities proctoring the growth of engineered foodstuffs, surround the central habitation dome. Within the dome, ultralight housing units were stacked atop another, the clean yet worn walls of hollow polycrete reflecting off of the distant sun to the east. Darker in color, the main reinforced alloy structure of the flying city stood higher above any residential unit. Housing the artificial gravity generator that kept the entire city six thousand meters in the sky, the brutalist construct of solid alloy shot above and below Ledenoft. Looking closely, the space surrounding the tower was agitated, bending around the graviton focal points that dotted the dark, rusting steel.
“Clear for landing.” The pilot says as the craft descends closer to the surface of the city.
The fields of long grain fly past beneath the steel frame, in the now closing distance, the small dots across the green fields turn into figures of visible workers.
Honeycomb airless tires descend from the aircraft's belly, the noise of hydraulics and rumbling air drag translated into the salvaged hull of the craft.
“Fifty meters relative…” The pilot speaks. “Thirty… nose up.”
The craft’s rear tires meet thin polycrete land, and the landing hook grabs onto the airstrip’s arresting gear.
Passengers are pushed into their safety harnesses as the arresting cord takes the brunt of the deceleration, going from two hundred and fifty kilometers per hour to zero in the frame of a few seconds.
The craft becomes one with Ledenoft’s relatively stable mass.
“This is Ledenoft Tower.” The flight controller’s tone stops for a second, a distant voice feeding him instructions. “Uh...Transport Charile-Nine four please shutdown your engines and keep your passengers seated.”
“This is charlie nine four, understood tower.”
Beyond the terminal, a squad of garrisoned marines jog forth towards the civilian transport. In their hands a mismatched array of handheld sidearms and rare assault rifles.
The pilot puts through the general announcement. “All passengers remain seated and have documentation available for inspection. Welcome to Ledenoft.”
As the marines grow closer to the craft, Alek observes that the usual ultra light combat kit marines dedicated in garrison duties wore was replaced with massive plates of ceramic armor. The thickness of such plating probably enough to stop a high powered armor piercing round need be.
All wore it, except for one, the officer of the fireteam wore the simple thin cotton fatigues as Alek along with a officer’s cap atop his head.
The ramp at the front of the craft opens, and Alek notes the reason why the Consortium Military was willing to shell out the extra kebs for him to sit nearest to the exit.
The officer enters the cabin without any weapons, straightening his light grey uniform as if preparing for a upcoming formal event.
Surprised green eyes immediately fall onto Alek and the officer almost jumps.
“Sub-Lieutenant Alek Markov.” His reoriented level voice speaks. “I am Lieutenant Dalsma. As per your orders, I am here from Admiral Balmer to take you to the Military Sector for Project Decimator.”
Alek stands, taking the small duffle bag of spare uniforms he always carried with him onto his back. New orders, new superiors. “Understood.”
The officer stands aside, letting him pass through.
Light blinds Alek’s dark eyes, the wind fluttering his unkempt hair as he steps onto the open airfield.
One of the marines, a tall woman whose red hair isn’t quite contained within her combat helmet, speaks into her phone. “Jericho, package has arrived. Escort in progress.”
The airfield wasn’t large, perhaps only a dozen or so meters longer than an average air carrier deck. With most of the exports of Ledenoft shipping from the giant cargo haulers that docked around the bordering ports, the need for a large runway simply wasn’t available.
“I hope you had a good flight Lieutenant.” Lieutenant Dalsma nervously says as they walk off the thin airfield and into city streets. “Anything of note?”
Sub Lieutenant Markov turns to him, his voice cold and straight. “No.”
“Good.” Dalsma gives a circle motion above his head with his right hand, and the marine fireteam closes together.
A few steps away from the airstrip and the city arrives. Across a single empty road, the brutal constructs of Ledenoft rise into the sky. Of polycrete and alloy, the rough, sharp edged residential structures are imposed next to the rusting steel silos of stored foodstuffs. In the thin air, the smell of cooking breads barely registers against the trained lungs of modern humanity.
Marines and local policing forces line the streets, armor and cloth bound together keeping a slowly forming crowd around the roads contained.
Faces of children, off shift workers blur together as all came curiously to the movement of military in the civilian sectors.
“Is there something the matter?” Sub-Lieutenant Markov asks.
“The Admiral ordered, ‘necessary precautions’ to be put into place.” Dalsma reveals. “Just to be safe.”
An armored car suddenly pulls up along the street, barreling past a handful of armed Marines.
The roaring engine turns idle as the driver within shifts gears, and Dalsma rips open one of the doors.
“Get in.” He orders.
Alek steps inside, the cossoal armor of the four wheeled vehicle muffeling all external noise.
Behind, the officer and a marine join him. The marine, wearing his heavy assault kit, takes up two chairs rather than one and Dalsma is squeezed against the thick armored window.
The red haired marine shuts the door the moment they’re all secured. The muffled voice coming through armor having a slight alleviation to it. “Jericho be advised, package is shipped.”
Dalsma fishes out his phone from his crushed pocket, taking it to his ear. “This is Dalsma, package confirmed shipped.”
The engine that powered the armored vehicle roars as the unseen driver, wearing as much armor as the marine crushing Dalsma, throws the vehicle down the road towards the military sector.
After a few minutes of silence Dalsma speaks over the noise of the roaring engine. “I don’t suppose they told you why you’re here?”
Markov stares, then shakes his head.
“Project Decimator.” Dalsma supplies as if that answered every question in the universe. “You’re the last piece of the vector puzzle, or so I’m told.”
“And what sort of puzzle is that?”
Dalsma chuckles. “I can’t tell you that, at least for now.”
Alek remains quiet at this, watching as the structures passing by the windows slowly turn into squatter, more militarized constructs.
“Markov… may I ask a personal question?” Dalsma voices after they pass the border into the military sector. “Off the record?”
Alek takes his eyes off the window, settling his cold, lifeless gaze at his handler. “Yes.”
Dalsma blinks, trying to think of a diplomatic method of approaching the sensitive topic. “How did you survive… that?”
Alek doesn’t move, his blackish eyes staring into the beyond. Memories of blood and metal fly into his vision, his stomach wrenches as the suppressed thoughts reign.
The moon flows down from the sky as tears
A bell screams sorrow into the night
And the bird takes the ashes over the cold waters
Then it all stopped.
“I didn’t.”
//Europia Continent, Subsector 437A
//1013 Hours, 01/21/2564
//Consortium City State of Ledenoft
//3rd Fleet Command Center, Military District
//Altitude: 6,320 Meters
Compared to the opulence of Lieutenant Ano’s previous assignment in the Ninth Fleet, the nervecenter for all Third Fleet operations was incredibly tiny. The squat, reinforced polycrete structure was only about three stories tall, with the aged appearance obvious standing in front of the front entrance.
Lieutenant Ano pauses before entering the structure, wondering if there was some sort of tradition or perhaps security measure preventing unauthorized access to such an important strategic location.
There was nothing except for a sealed door that opened when pulled.
The orders that forced Ano to come only mentioned something called Project Decimator. Ano assumed that was important enough to warrant dragging him away from the repair of the Cario, which was finally getting some kind of headway after a month and a half of constant and endless delays.
“I am here to meet an Admiral Balmer?” Ano asks the front desk receptionist of the utterly tiny command center.
The young, blue eyed Petty Officer takes a second to look at Ano before silently nodding. He speaks into a microphone on his plastic deck. “Jericho. Lieutenant Ano has arrived.”
The response takes a second to return. “Send him up.”
The Petty Officer smiles at Ano. “Door 5R to your left, tell the Marine your name and they’ll let you through.”
Ano blinks. “Thank you.”
As he pushes through the bullet resistant door, Ano is met with a marine standing at guard to the right of the passage way. The guard could pass for a very troubled civilian with the lack of combat gear he was wearing; the only weapon on him a palm sized handgun harnessed on his hip and a wickly long knife on the other side.
“Lieutenant Nathaniel Ano. I am here to see Admiral Balmer” He supplies.
The marine takes a moment to look at his phone, silently cross checking names and appointments.
He speaks with a heavy voice, motioning to the door directly to his right. “You May enter.”
Door 5R was nothing less than a heavily armored sheet of alloy, and it opened with the effort and roar that rivaled the a meter thick bulkhead.
Ano felt like some kind of fresh out of basic sailor grinding his way through the lower decks as he pushed body to door.
A old voice speaks out from within the sacred room as a person sized opening appears. “Lieutenant, come in.”
There was always culture shock. In Ano’s previous assignment in the 9th Fleet, the Admiralty Board was distant and foreign, their positions elevated to a point of royalty.
But here, Admirals and Soldiers walked upon bare floors, the office to the Admiralty probably open to anyone who wanted a casual conversation with a superior officer.
“Sir!” Ano groans as the door finally opens to a point where he could slide through, with him slipping into the room like a snake.
Behind him the bulkhead automatically shuts with an explosion of metal impacting metal that almost makes him jump.
Admiral Balmer was a strange combination of personality, his graying hair with young face was a confused sort of active service and near retirement. He looked like a man who worked a little too hard on projects that never really made much sense. A determined smile shot right at Ano, as if Balmer finally found the lost piece to a long incomplete puzzle.
The Admiral's commanding voice hits him. “Lieutenant Nathaniel Ano, a belated welcome to Ledenoft.”
“Thank you Admiral.” Ano instinctively says.
“Captain Eva Sitz of the Akula as well as the second in command of the Decimator Project.” The Admiral waves to a woman with short cropped golden hair and a strange, nerve wracking smile. “I believe you’ve met.”
“Yes we have.” Ano replies as he extends his hand, a offer Captain Sitz takes with a firm grip. “I don’t believe I ever thanked you for saving the Cairo from that assault carrier.”
“Commanding Officers need to watch out for each other, especially with not following orders.” Sitz smiles as the words produce an odd expression from Ano. “As you know of course.”
“Her orders were the safe transport of vector teams to Ledenoft.” The Admiral explains. “Though, I’ll tell you why we’re not court martialing her for saving your ass later.”
Lieutenant Ano sits as Admiral Balmer waves him to an open chair.
“Coffee?” Sitz offers.
“No, I’m fine.” Ano rejects.
Sitz’s face brings on a smile, a predatory gaze hitting Lieutenant Ano like a vermin bird fluttering into a child’s makeshift trap.
“Do you know why we’ve brought you here Lieutenant?” Balmer asks as they all get settled.
“Project Decimator, sir?” Ano remembers from his orders this morning.
Admiral Balmer and Captain Sitz lock eyes for a second, returning to Ano a few seconds later. “Yes, Project Decimator.”
“Have you heard of it Nathaniel?” Sitz’s mention of Ano’s first name feels charged in its usage.
Lieutenant Ano is suddenly thrust into the proverbial interrogation chair for the second time in his career, with the Admiral and Captain waiting for his answer like vultures waiting for an animal below to die.
“No…?” Ano nervously answers. “The orders didn’t mention anything specific.”
“Good.” The Admiral smiles. “This is a Project we’d like to keep under wraps.”
Confused, Ano looks at Sitz, then back to Balmer.
The Captain speaks first. “Project Decimator is a combat project masterminded by the Admiral, he will go into details.”
The Admiral smiles, holding out a thin layer of hyperglass held by a frame of white steel. “Lieutenant, have you ever seen this vessel before?”
Lieutenant Ano takes the tablet from Balmer’s hands, a small piece of technology lost to the tides of time. It seemed as if this object held within Ano’s long fingers was something utterly irreplaceable, earth-tech taken to the rarest.
Suddenly the tablet activates, a seemingly three dimensional display pulls into Ano’s view. For a second, he fights the nausea from such a user interface, stabilizing once his eyes adjust.
A blueprint for a warship burns in Ano’s vision, an utterly terrifying angular shape that seemed to rip into the ideals of aerocraft design.
A battleship, most likely. The one hundred and fifty meter long hull was guargantian, with the only warship able to hold candle to the flying monster being the few larger tiers of frigate carriers.
Though, what was more telling of the battleship classification was her armament. Weapons smothered the upper and lower decks, with almost every possible angle of attack covered by overlapping fields of fire from automated anti vector weapons. Even the anti-air guns manned by human gunners were armored against high caliber weaponry, their emplacements surrounded by thick and extremely heavy reinforced steel plating.
He calls up the detailed specifications of the main batteries, their digital silhouettes too tempting to leave ignorant.
Eight of the twelve sixteen inch guns were all located in front of the rear constructed rear bridge superstructure, with two guargatian turret mountings holding three of the salvaged weapons and the front most turret holding two. The four weapons remaining were split on two vertically mounted emplacements, located on the rear port and starboard sides of the hull. Although exposed and lightly armored, according to the blueprint, the weapons were able to elevate an entire 360 degree arc, able to fire aft towards any perusing vessels, as well as add to the ship’s already city destroying levels of broadside firepower.
Naturally, the progression of Ano’s consumption of information leads to the aft.
The engines she had on her completely outclassed anything in the Consortium’s arsenal. A triplet family of fusion reactors pushed two gravities worth of pure exhaust off her aft standard, a speed that could probably outrun a destroyer in a head to head race. Her maneuvering thrusters weren’t something to scoff at either, Ano estimated the large battleship could take a high speed turn harder than an anti-vector frigate executing a full powered crash turn.
The Battleship’s artificial gravity system kept the entire vessel together, which was naturally wired into the family of fusion reactors.
Wait...
“I thought fusion reactors were still in experimental development.” Ano asks innocently.
“They are.” Sitz replies. “We just happened to borrow a few from a battlefield in the Amerikas. Don’t worry, they aren’t traceable.”
“Oh…” Ano quickly returns to his reading.
A icon flashes on the top right of the screen, and Ano depresses the ethereal key.
The Battleship splits as the cross section takes her apart. Her internals were packed together as thick as the guts of a Vector. Honeycombed structural bulkheads crisscross her internals, munitions containment areas stacked among tiny living quarters connected by hundreds of tight corrorders. Spare machinery storage rooms line the hull, acting as extra cushioning in case of a penetrating shell.
Ano moves on to the outer hull again, focusing on the protection instead of armament.
The armor of the few serviced battleships in the Consortium could only be described as colossal; with multiple meters of spaced armor lining their hulls they were hulking beasts of the sky.
But brutally stacking mass in an effort to stop incoming fire wasn’t present on this vessel, instead replaced by strange armor plating marked only as ‘electromagnetic reactive regenerative.’
Ano notes the lowest part of the hull was flat instead of the usual thin blade design, a sudden revelation occuring to him as he goes back to check the cross section.
The ship’s lowest five decks were completely dedicated to its Vector complement. She could field twenty vectors and store ten more, enough to mount a devastating raid on a Syndicate city state if need be. However, Ano realized, something was off about this vector complement and its facilities.
The design of the vector launchers was more so a drop system than the usual launch net, allowing the launching of vector assets incredibly quickly. To go along with such a design, the wide open flight deck was outfitted with technologies that Ano hadn’t heard of even in propaganda. The vector list, its teams and squadron leaders, were all subject to a level nine classified list, a level Ano doubted he could ever reach.
Whatever this vessel was, she seemed to be the ultimate fusion of every single ship class ever built by the consortium. The firepower of a battleship, the reactionary time and speed of a destroyer, and the force projecting power of a carrier all rolled into a single package.
Ano didn’t want to know how expensive such a vessel was to create, probably enough kebs and material to start another city state he assumed.
After a few minutes of intense reading, he looks up. “No sir, I do not believe I know this vessel.”
“Good, because if you did you’d been a spy and I would’ve shoot you.” The Admiral’s joke gets a small, extremely nervous chuckle out of Ano.
“This is Project Decimator.” Sitz explains. “That vessel right there is the culmination of a decade of work from Admiral Balmer and some assistance from me.”
Ano still didn’t understand, a expression that the Admiral uses to proceed with his breifing. “The Decimator Class battleship is something… unique to the third fleet. Its construction was difficult to carry out anywhere else.”
“Impossible to carry out.” Sitz corrects.
The Admiral looks at his associate, then continues. “As you know, much of this fleet’s operations across the world are taken with very discreet methods, we enjoy our privacy within the Consortium Military.”
The Third Fleet never showed their hand, Ano remembers from the rumors, almost everything they released unclassified always had large swaths of redacted sections. Personnel, ships, vector tech, all seemed to be a complete unknown even to the Consortium’s Central Management.
“However, the Decimator Project is something completely different. The battleship Decimator was constructed with extreme privacy measures in place, the shipment of salvaged Earth-tech, material for ship construction, completely in the dark.” The Admiral motions for Ano to return the tablet, which he does so promptly. “However, the method of war she is built for is completely incompatible with the Third Fleet’s usual methods.”
The Admiral takes in Ano’s look of information processing, reminding himself to slow down just a little. “The Akula is our pride and flag, she is everything the Third Fleet stands for you know?”
Ano blinks, his inexperience in his time of service with this unusual military division showing poorly.
Sitz supplements as she notes Ano’s confusion. “She’s fast, quiet, and can do damage where it needs to be done… discreetly.”
Ano nods, the understanding reaching him.
“Yes.” The Admiral hands off her. “But when you compare the Akula with the Decimator here, what differences do you see Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Ano takes in the information, processing everything in his mind like a tactician playing out a decisive battle. “The Akula is designed for operations requiring… finesse,” The choice of words leave a smile on the Admirals face, “Her design matches that philosophy: radar absorbing armor, infrared jammers, and heat neutral systems. Her armament contains weapons able to be either remotely launched or fired without revealing her position.”
Ano motions for the tablet held by the Admiral. “But the Decimator is the opposite of such a philosophy. It has the capability of force projection with its vector complement and high powered fire support from its armament, this comes with the sacrifice of its ability to execute covert operations. This sacrifice is the main difference between the two.”
The Admiral and Captain pause as they both process his analysis. Captain Sitz leans in to whisper into the Admiral’s ear. “I told you he was good.”
“Yes, very much so.” Admiral Balmer agrees. “However, you did miss a few things on the Decimator Lieutenant.”
Suddenly the Admiral’s desk turns into a holographic projector, something Lieutenant Ano believed was seeming magical in existence, a fantasy of earth-tech. Areas of the Decimator highlight in red as Admiral Balmer lists them off. “Hydroponic bays able to sustain food production for years, electromagnetic regenerative armor, a complement of remote salvaging drones, do you see what else the Decimator has?”
“Independence.” Ano supplies immediately. “The Decimator can operate alone for long periods of time without resupply. Allowing her to strike deeper within enemy territory, perhaps at a major Syndicate City State.”
He stops, his mind taking a second to think of a counter argument for himself. “But… given that she is unable to maintain a small radar cross section and heat neutrality, she is easily detected by even low band radar. The Decimator isn’t able to execute such a task without a high risk of Syndicate counter attack and possible destruction… ”
Ano scrambles for an answer, the Admiralty Office shifting to a blank space of Ano and Ano only. For a minute of deep thought, Ano wrestles with his own mind, tactical projections extend towards a internalized world map, a battle plays out between Decimator and Syndicate fleet. Vectors dogfight, flak detonates, and doomed vessels fall from the sky.
He snaps his fingers. “Deterrence! The influence she is able to project can be used to control certain areas of airspace without officially declaring them Consortium controlled. That’s why she’s designed around independence and force projection; in order to dominate areas without the diplomatic requirements!”
The Admiral raises his head to the sky, a loud laugh coming from his aging respiratory system. “This man is PERFECT Sitz, where the hell you’d find him?!”
“Being court martialed by the 9th Fleet.” Captain Sitz smiles.
Admiral Balmer needs a second to calm down, his hands falling to his sides as he leans back into his chair. He looked different, frustrated and angered. “Ah yes, the proverbial bird in the window needs to be met.”
The Admiral takes his tablet, opening up a new document in the interface. His voice is like an announcer for a sporting event, loud and projecting. “Lieutenant Ano of the Ninth Fleet: a high level court martialed officer, twice guilty. Demoted from Sub-Commander to Lieutenant after the Battle of Old Itali, and put into five months of military prison for failure to ‘follow orders.’”
The memories eviscerate Lieutenant Ano, the utter humiliation at the stand, the captivity, failure, all come rushing in unannounced. The world spins and he grabs the plastic table for balance.
The Admiral lets the feelings sink in before slapping his table. Lieutenant Ano jumps, and Captain Stiz sighs as she readies herself for another rant from the Admiral. “Nathaniel, from my judgement you’ve been fucked!”
Ano lifts his head up, surprise at both the sudden change of tone and language. “Sir?”
“I read the classified documents from Old Itali.” The Admiral taps his tablet as he looks to Sitz. “If I was in charge I would’ve given you a promotion right there to Commander no questions asked. Right Sitz?”
“Yes sir.” Sitz sighs.
Ano blinks. “I thought the case documents were classified level ten sir.”
Sitz winks at Ano’s confused look. “Don’t ask how I got them.”
Admiral Balmer’s expression turns into frustration as he insanely eyes the room. “You put your crew and the Viper through a Syndicate salvage grinder for twelve days, and you came out the otherside tattered and hanging on by a thread. A destroyer against an entire syndicate task force and you fucking survived.”
The Admiral needs a few seconds to gather his breath. “And what does the 9th Fleet fucking do?! Court martial your ass because they couldn’t fly with the idea they were incompetent shitheads! That’s what they did!” The Admiral’s frustration turns down into a defeated sigh. “These are the people who are dragging the Consortium, the dead weight.”
“Good thing we don’t have to deal with them anymore.” Sitz shrugs.
The Admiral looks at Sitz, then back to Ano. “Lieutenant, do you remember Admiral Tarvoik?”
Memories of a dark face presenting evidence against him rise up. Emotions of rage, untamed and primal force themselves up before being suppressed by Ano. “Yes sir, he testified against me during my court martial.”
“Wel… don’t tell anyone but… ” The Admiral leans closer. “He’s currently under arrest for corruption and incompetence. Consortium Intel. nabbed him on Paradise a few weeks ago.”
The citystate of Paradise was the 9th Fleet’s Headquarters, and if Ano heard correctly, Admiral Balmer just revealed one of the highest, most revered Admirals in the Consortium as under arrest from the state. “Excuse me… sir?”
“Yep.” Balmer chuckles, then goes serious again. “He’s actually getting executed next month. But his trial or arrest isn’t announced yet, kids at propaganda are trying to nail him with a espionage charge.”
The revelation was as incredible as the false one. Ano blinks at the thought. “I’m sorry sir, but why are you telling me this?”
Admiral Balmer looks around as if trying to spot invisible spy drones, leaning forward from his reclined chair as if to whisper. “We’re here to ask a massive favor from you.”
He exchanges a glance with Sitz, who nods to him with confidence. “Captain Ano, we are lead to believe that you are the person best fit to command the Decimator.”
Ano is hit by the information harder than a five gravity crash acceleration. The idea of career advancement, the concept of him commanding a vessel again, none the less a battleship more powerful than anything in the Consortium Fleet, was utterly unthinkable. His vision fails as the information slams into him again. “Sir?!”
Admiral Balmer slides a small box from behind his desk, the black felt shape held together by a single latch. “Open it.” He orders.
Within, there was a single unit patch and an insignia pin.
The patch depicted the shattered moon in a star flung sky eclipsed by the flanked hull of an unseen battleship broadside, the surrounding text only spelling a single word in red: DECIMATOR.
The insignia pin was a rank: the single broken metallic star of a Captain.
Ano was utterly shocked, and his mouth hangs open as his mind fails with overload.
Balmer cuts him before he speaks. “I’ll be honest with you Captain, the third fleet does not have an Officer qualified to command the Decimator’s combat philosophy. This is the reason why we have brought you here. You know how to fight a war of deterrence, the strategy of the invisible war is ingrained into your very fibers. To go along with it, you know how to command a crew, to keep them together in times of hopelessness. You don’t pull back a punch and you know when to run. You were made for this Nathaniel, and I don’t say that lightly.”
Ano couldn’t speak, the suddenness of this position threatening to drown him under a torrent of information and responsibility. His endless misfortune in the Consortium, the battered and bloodied crews of the Cario and the Viper, it all came together to form him today. A Captain, responsible for the lives of the men and women serving under him.
He didn’t seem worthy of it all. “Sir, I don’t believe I am the best choice for this position. Perhaps there is…”
Balmer stops him there. “Ano, you were the only choice for this position. That’s why Captain Sitz here literally saved this entire project by disobeying orders. She risked the Akula and the elite vector teams she was transporting in order to ensure you would survive.”
Stiz leans in to Ano’s position, her soft voice even more delicate than before. “Lieutenant, you survived against two squadrons of vectors with a heavily damaged frigate for thirty minutes alone. That by itself would have earned you the Captain’s chair on the Decimator. Take it from me, we didn’t choose you because you read a few big books and sat in a few uncomfortable chairs. We choose you because you fully comprehend and know this war we want to fight. Do you understand?”
Ano could do nothing but dumbly nod.
Somehow, he needed to take this, to make all the unseen sacrifices worth it. All the lives lost under his orders, and all the humiliation he suffered from them.
Captain Nathaniel Ano pauses, taking a deep breath of thought. “I accept.”
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