Thrust Vector - Log 1.2: Gaea Team
The briefing room was basically empty. Only four polymer chairs were placed facing a empty white screen, taking up a tiny section of a space designed for multiple squadrons worth of personnel.
Illya Leader comes into the door a few minutes behind Sicario and Case Leader, escorted by a pair of marine guards who remain outside the closing doorway after dumping her in.
She stands awkwardly past the door as she takes in each of their complexions, her sharp, youthful grey eyes darting from aged pilot to a living suit encased in steel.
“Called it.” Sicario points as he snaps his fingers at Illya. “Knew the moment Case shuffled in you were next.”
“What?!” Illya asks.
Case’s mechanical voice, harsh and filtered, comes through with a slight interest to it. “The bet was two kebs for your arrival after mine. But I do not believe the payout will be enacted as there is no opposing side involved to gamble against.”
Illya stares with disappointment, her involvement in this situation suddenly deteriorating into a bet. “Only two kebs?”
“A military budget.” Sicario jokes. “All talk and no payout at the end.”
Case coughs, optical sensors tracking the girl as if attempting to determine material composition. “If I may ask a question...”
“Yes?”
“You don’t have an Harbin-Petersburg accent.”
She pauses. “That wasn’t a question Case.”
“It was an observation.” Case corrects. “However, you spoke with an accent aboard the Akula. An accent that no longer is available.”
“Well, I like to fit in.”
Case is quiet for a few seconds. Within, the formulation of words band together. “This raises a binary possibility tree: your original accent is from the City State of Harbin-Petersburg, which implies that you are currently hiding a major aspect of your personality for the primary objective of integration with the current personnel in this room; the second possibility is that you do not have the specific speech pattern of your home city, meaning you fake a major aspect of a heritage you lack to appeal to a surface level appreciation of what you perceive as your friends.”
The silence in the room is louder than a vector engine crash burning.
Ilya gives Case an odd look, then smiles. “You’re fucking with me.”
Case’s laugh is more akin to a metal scratch than a genuine sign of friendship through their suit filters. “Of course, I enjoy teasing people.”
“Wait, I think I know why though.” Sicario cuts into Case’s laugh, wisdom trumping trick. He leans in close towards Illya. “Ты понимаешь меня? Ответ в стандартной.”
“Zis.” Ilya suddenly speaks in her usual thick accent.
Sicario continues. “你还能理解我吗?”
“Zis.” She repeats again, accent indifferent.
“Yep, you’ve been speaking standard for too long. Your brain’s getting all rewired to talk accentless… ingles.” Sicario chuckles at his own home tongue, motioning for Illya. “Now come and sit with us kiddo, we gotta to talk about our combined futures.”
Illya Leader takes the seat closest to Case, whose highly similar personality within the fully enclosed environmental suit felt the most to home.
The Vector Corps was a family, knit impossibly close from months of harsh training and years of brutal combat, the fellowship of blood and salvaged steel ran within the very fiber of the pilots.
And as all family did, they watched out for each other.
“Let’s talk serious.” Sicario Lead takes a second to scratch his chin, his dark skin and older complexion giving off an aurora of wisdom and age, a rarity in the vector corps. When he spoke, they listened. “They got three squadron leaders in one room…” He notes. “Whatever they’re doing with us, it's going to be big.”
“Perhaps we are being reassigned permanently.” Case’s mechanical voice follows Sicario as their hidden eyes speak behind layers of protective helmet covering. “Or more likely brought together for the creation of propaganda. The reputation of such a group as ours isunrivaled in the Vector Corps.”
Illya Lead looks around, not seeing anything special for the group within this room. “Case, what makes you say that?”
“I will demonstrate.” The helmeted creature turns to Sicario. “Sicario Leader, your name is Fernando Perez, rank of Colonel in the Vector Corps; call sign Sicario. Born on the city state of Los Puertos, you enlisted at the age of twenty into the Office of Naval affairs, transferee to the Vector Corps a year later at twenty one. You have earned two Consortium Stars for your actions during Operation Nova Paris and for the Defense of New Rusika, as well as four master pilot commendations from the 5th Fleet. Your total air kills number at 143, large vessel kills are credited at 4. You are currently thirty nine years old, have two children aged nineteen and seventeen, your blood type is AB, and your publicly known favorite food is… takkas.”
“Tacos.” Perez corrects as he sulks into his chair.
“Wow you have kids?” Illya Leader asks, the thought of a pilot actually having time to consummate offspring a foreign concept.
Case cuts in before Perez could answer. “Colonel Perez had them before he enlisted. The Oldest is working on Los Puertos’ gravity generator control center. The Youngest is currently getting a degree in experimental weapons development.”
Perez stops Case with a panicked tone. “Wait a minute I thought Daniel is getting a degree in agricultural sciences.”
“Your son was, he switched his path two months ago.”
Colonel Perez shakes his head in confusion. “Case how the fuck do you know this?!”
“I know a lot of things that you don’t… ” Case pauses, the low chuckle coming from their suit a scratching cough. “In a humorless explanation; this suit has mark three facial identification software. As long as I am connected to the central network I can request anything from the Third Fleet Database.”
“Oh do me!” Illya Lead requests excitedly.
Perez puts his head into his hands in embarrassment, the childish nativity of invincibility coming back as unpleasant memories of youth. “Oh God here we go.”
Case turns the helmet to the young girl sitting next to them, her wide innocent dark eyes and black hair ironic to the personnel report Case was downloading. “Major Mei Long Yuryev…”
They pause.
“What’s wrong?” Perez asks.
“I am downloading your disciplinary file.” Case raises a figurative eye at the amount of data constructed within. “Major Yuryev, you have fifteen accounts of intoxication while on duty.”
She winks, pointing a finger gun at Case. “My father told me if you can’t fly a vector drunk you can’t fly one sober.”
Case’s cold steel dips slightly. “Your father was a vector pilot for the First Fleet, achieving a rank of Colonel before retiring to the city state of Harbin-Petersburg. He has earned three pilot commendations, if you earn one more you will surpass him Major Yuryev.”
“Already have with that Consortium Star.” She smiles. “And please call me Mei.”
“Mei, you have 203 air kills and ten large vessel downings during your service with the First Fleet.” Case continues. “Your family lives on Harbin-Petersburg, T-Zero district, Fourth street in habitation Block Nine. Your two younger sisters both are students attending Ricardo J. Heli Upper School. You have had three intimate relationships in the past year, the first was with Petty Officer… ”
“Ok point taken.” Mei interrupts before Case could get into the juice of the fruit. “So what about you Case?”
“I have served with the Third Fleet for several years.” Case stops.
Mei furrows her eyebrows. “Really, that’s it?”
“Case is pretty damn secretive.” Perez shrugs at Case’s massive profile. “Couldn’t access your personnel file while on the Akula. And not even a name propped up after I went through your squadron manafest.”
“The Third Fleet prefers to stay private on certain matters.” Case explains.
Mei delicately runs her fingers along the outer metal of Case’s suit, making the person within turn in slight shock. “I’m sorry to ask, but why do you wear that armored suit?!”
“That’s not armor by any stretch of the imagination, it's a modified quarantine suit.” Perez scratches his chin. “I remember reading some canned propaganda that you were infected with some bioweapon when that City State’s gravity generator died.”
Case turns their helmet to Perez, a light nod emanating from within. “You are correct Colonel, the virus I am infected with can kill any human being six days after exposure.”
Mei suddenly looks at her hand as if she’d touched death itself.
“Case, the Flying Tank. Even when diseased you can fight without equal.” Perez remembers. “Which leads us to the main question. Why we’re here.”
Case and Mei look at each other, both coming back to the all knowing look of Colonel Perez. “You two were all ‘unofficially’ confined to quarters, never allowed to leave the military district. And even when you did leave, a fireteam of marines had to be with you correct?”
“Yeah.” Mei answers, nudging, but not touching Case. “Though they were really helpful in carrying me home when I got wasted.”
Perez looks to Case. The mechanical brig shrugs, a tiny expression on their shoulders. “I don’t go outside… ever.”
“Well, then we’ve got something. First, we’re not allowed out without supervision, a need for protection, not control. Secondly, we are here, in this group together. The implication of bringing us here in one room means only a few things.”
Case follows, and Mei blinks curiously.
“First, as Case said, we’re going on a propaganda video, which is unlikely considering that we’re not on the capital; Fortuna.”
Sicario Lead suddenly stops. “Or they’ve brought us together to form something else.”
“Is there something wrong?” Mei asks.
“Look, let me make the ultimate three man Vector Team.” Colonel Perez points to each member of the room as he rattles them off. “Case: you act as our fleet tackler, your armor and armaments can take care of anything larger than a long range recon drone. Anything big gets in the airspace you shoot it down understood?”
Case nods.
“Mei, I’m having you on long range fighter screening, with your active camo and plasma rifles you keep vectors off our backs from afar while we complete the objective, you got that?”
“You can count on me.” Mei replies.
“Good let’s do this.” Colonel Perez pretends to get up from his chair, and Case and Mei both have to resist the sudden urge to stand and rush to their vectors.
It was an unparalleled ability for a leader to inspire his troops enough that they rise to action for a fictional scenario, nonetheless to an imaginary sortie that didn’t even have outlined objectives or location.
Case speaks in realization. “And you are the Leader: Colonel Perez. The perfect choice for a vector team of this caliber.”
“I wouldn't say perfect.” Colonel Perez tries to shrug off the complement.
Case leans down, their two meter tall frame hanging over the superior officer like a mountain of metal. “You earned two Consortium Stars for your leadership. It is quite difficult to say that you are not a good leader.”
Perez shakes them away, humility overwhelming praise. “The point is, if someone was to create the ultimate Vector Team… it would be us.”
The thought sinks into Mei and Case.
Mei raises a hand. “But we’re missing one! We have four chairs and only three pilots!”
Both look at each other and nod in agreement.
“Who would be the fourth then?!”
The three take a minute to mull it over, thinking of famous and still surviving vector pilots to join this theoretical team. All of them think of a single name, yet all dismiss that as some mad and impossible scenario.
“Commander Rai!!!” Mei finally snaps.
“No.” Perez shoots down Mei’s answer, his tone scolding a young child for dropping a obscenity at a family gathering. “Commander Rai is a joke. He couldn’t hit the broadside of a carrier with a wide choke shotgun. They only keep his face around for recruitment posters.”
Mei sulks back into her chair.
Case looks up a total air kill list of pilots, sorting them out top to bottom. All three of them stack behind one single name, descending then from Mei, to Perez, and then Case. The name ranked above all was the first to dismiss, yet the one most likely.
“There is one pilot with more air kills than us all.” Case supplies from their list. “352 aerial victories with 12 large vessel kills.”
Perez shakes his head. “There’s no way it's him. There is no way the Twelfth Fleet is letting that guy go and there is no way the Third Fleet can get their hands on him.”
“Do not estimate the Third Fleet.” Case speaks from distant wisdom. “They can and will make anything happen.”
They are suddenly interrupted by the answer. A freezing wind turns through the briefing room as the door is opened, a thin figure stands in the doorway, military fatigues casting a shadow upon the three pilots.
Perez stops as the man’s basic facial features come flowing into his memory. “Oh my fucking god.”
Death and steel, flesh and armor.
The propaganda always lied as per its mission, but the stories they ran for him were somehow believable in a sea of falsity.
The footage of his battles; spliced from gun and ship mounted cameras, were seared into the minds of every modern vector pilot.
The engagements he fought could never be compared to the brutal warfare of vector combat. The screams of engines plastered over the roar of high caliber weapons fire was an overtone to beautiful carnage, him a central actor in the play of war.
It was art, the battlefield his canvas of incredible proportions.
There was no comparing, nothing to even touch this risen among warrior gods.
They all stand at his sight, unconscious respect forcing their bodies out of their chairs.
Behind him the door shuts with nuclear noise in the deathly silent briefing room. For a second, only the purr of Case’s environmental control system could be heard over the empty void.
“Alek Markov.” Perez carefully voices. “Welcome.”
Markov only stares at them, empty and cold eyes taking in the room around him. He was much younger and slightly shorter than what was shown through the vids and pictures, a body frame hidden by clothing thin and starved. His eyes were black lifeless orbs, easier to draw parallels to Case’s optical sensors than any other in the room.
It was difficult to define such a person, as if he was within the transience of death and life, a man who didn’t live in the dimension that they all existed on.
Perhaps the sheer skill and practice placed him into a world entirely different than humanity, the slow motion universe of the vector pilots even more distorted for a person of his ability.
Or even, as they rumored, his time in the Syndicate’s Block Nine had changed him from a glorious warrior to a tainted monster.
“Take any seat you want.”
“Understood.” His voice was colder than his eyes.
Markov settles into the empty chair at the far end of the row, leaving Mei to nervously sit next to his uneasy frame.
“Four.” Case finally speaks. “Number four.”
“Four?” Markov asks.
“We have a Vector Team now.” Perez clarifies. “Four chairs, Four Pilots. For whatever reason... ”
“Project Decimator.” Markov says without prompt.
The name sends the team into bewilderment, all trying to find the words within memories and databases. Mei is first to ask, quietly next to him. “Project what?”
“Decimator.” Markov replies. “Admiral Balmer drafted orders for me to arrive at Ledenoft for the project. I assume that this is the reason to his gathering of every individual pilot here.”
Perez steps in, his voice even in questioning a piece of legend. “What do you know about this project?”
“I only know that I am referred to as ‘the final piece.’” Markov supplies. “For what purpose I assume the creation of a vector team.”
“One hell of a vector team.” Perez comments. “Now we got four consortium stars between us, probably more, and enough air kills to halve the Syndicate in a single strike.”
“The Third Fleet can do anything.” Case echoes.
A voice calls out as the door opens once more. Authority beckons the spoken words of the individual to the masses. “Pilots.”
A older man stands at the entrance, Admiral Balmer.
“Sir.” All pilots stand in unison at the highest echelon of the Fleet.
“Welcome to Ledenoft, all of you.” The Admiral motions and they all sit back down. “I know you are all curious to why you are here today, and don’t worry, I am here to explain everything to you.”
The Admiral strolls to the screen in front of the amphitheater of pilots, bridging tablet in his hands to the idling screen. They all watch as Admiral Balmer’s background image of the Third Fleet emblem scrolls across the ancient software.
“For the past decade, a few more or less years depending, the four of you have become the deadliest and arguably the most feared pilots of the Consortium Military.”
The Admiral realizes the entire heroes speech was probably something of a redundancy for legends, and instead moves on to the actual meat of the fluff. “For this reason, I have brought you all here.”
The frames of a presentation begins to form on pure screen, and he moves to begin. “This will not be a standard briefing, raise your questions and comments at anytime.”
Four pictures are displayed, the forms of vectors blurred from sheer speed.
“Most of you are familiar with this, I assume.”
The frames of the craft enhance, hand touched adjustments towards their supposed shapes and forms. Black turns grey, blurs turn into solid built engines, cockpits, and weapons. Experimental stabilizer conards and wings of ordinance flow into realization.
Combat erupts, Team leads watch as friends and comrades are blown from the air. In gun sights the familiar shapes appear, in nightmares they fly. Memories rush in of a desperate battle, their only salvation the mercy of their enemies.
“It’s them!” Mei suddenly realizes. “That vector team that attacked the convoy last month!”
“Those vectors they flew were insane.” Perez adds. “What the hell were they?!”
Admiral Balmer nods. “Major Yuryev’s statement is correct and Colonel Perez’s question well stated.”
Four of the Vectors reorganize themselves into the sides of the stage, with Sicario, Case, and Illya team’s compositions taking the main stage.
“As you know, standard vector teams are split between leaders and subordinates. Normally, the Lead Vector of a particular squadron will be equipped to certain standards higher than the rest. By putting all ground-tech into a single line vector within a team, we are able to preserve valuable technologies as well as ensure ample air domination. The subordinates cage in hostiles, the lead finishes them off.”
The Admiral pauses. “But something has changed.”
The four syndicate vectors appear again, angular and engineered shapes contrasted against battle sky.
“This Vector Team is equipped with total ground-tech conversions. Instead of the usual lead vector specific modifications, the Syndicate has fielded a single Vector Team that has the equivalent technological capacity of an Exodus War fighter squadron.”
The Admiral lets the information process against cold nerves. “The team you faced during your engagement is referred to as, Sky Team.”
The name hangs in the air.
“Is there more than one of these vector teams?” Perez raises the question.
“That is unknown.” The Admiral promptly answers. “However, we believe that the Syndicate at current is only able to field a single team acting as a pilot study to others in the future.”
There’s a pause.
“Was that a pun?” Mei asks, her tone borderline insubordination.
The Admiral snaps his fingers in disappointment. “It should’ve been.”
All personnel except Markov break into sniffling, light laughter.
Admiral Balmer looks around the collected pilots, realizing the different cultures of the Consortium Fleets were clashing together in manners completely unpredictable.
The lazily lethal personality of the First Fleet was mixing with the bred order of the Fifth, the learned ruthlessness of the Twelfth, and the gained contravencing of the Third.
And somehow, at least for these pilots, it was like the reunion of a lost family.
“Anyhow.” The Admiral speaks to regain their attention, the vector pilots recomposing in an instant. “Let me explain Sky Team.”
The first vector highlights. A war machine, weapons of a caliber that could pass for anti aircraft guns were mounted beneath swept ordnance wings, armor sacrificed for armament. A central cockpit, hammer headed and stacked with ballistic computers, was the only section of the vector armored.
They all look to Case for a reaction, with it remaining still in ruination.
“Sky Three, as we suspect. Fleet Intelligence has referred to him as ‘Shrapnel.’ Their weapon loadout consists of dual small caliber dumbfire rocket launchers. However, the penetrating and destructive power of such weaponry is unparalleled in its application, the munitions they fire, therefore, are unknown. However, we do believe this individual takes the role of fleet tackler.”
The second takes the place of the the first, and Mei rises from her chair. “Hold on that’s…!”
Armorless and utterly built for high risk dogfighting. The light shape was betrayed by engines that seemed to belong on some kind of fleet vessel rather than a vector. The terrifying dual syndicate carved plasma rifles were mounted right next to the armored cockpit, most likely allowing for pinpoint precision in close quarters engagement.
Mei remembers the shape, the dance between aces a terrifying reality of vector combat. The split second reactions and thrust vectoring technologies needed for absolute maneuvering, and match a pilot’s skill was lacking for her. She stands. “It’s that bitch of a pilot!”
The Admiral coughs, a minor laugh coming from a serious persona. “As Major Yuryev has encountered, Sky Two is a pilot and vector adept at close quarters engagement. Intelligence has deemed it, ‘Witch.’ The vector is equipped with an acceleration profile that has clocked in at around ten gravities with its four engines. We believe that this member of Sky Team acts as an reconnaissance role and vector screen within the squadron.”
“Some kind of reconnaissance.” Mei grumbles. “A Fleet tackler and light attacker hybrid more like it.”
Admiral Balmer nods. “Intelligence is still piecing things together, however I will add your suggestion on its classification.”
The next vector comes around, a frame which Perez stares at with intense eyes.
“Sky Leader.” The Admiral pauses as the Vector’s photo arrives onto the screen.
A weapon loadout of swarm missile launcher and heavy machine gun. Tactical, and planned, a pilot whose command of the enemy leads them to their own demise. The vector was bulbous, filled with points of electronic warfare countermeasures and sensor arrays.
In a single point, there was leadership, the concept of domination. Command of the battlefield came within the thick of it, a nerve center for war.
“‘The Inquisitor.’” The Admiral speaks. “We believe this Lead Vector’s electronic countermeasures allow for full radar invisibility as well as complete communications blackout. We’ve never encountered such a sophisticated digital war system equipped on such a small craft, at least in battlefield applications. Inquisitor is considered a priority target, due to its rank as leader and ability to act as a vector sized electronic warfare frigate.”
They see a blur. An ingema, a vector that was merely a fuzzy shape in the sky above.
Its name hangs in the still atmosphere. “Sky Four.”
Combat, pure and unadulterated conflict. Order and total control over what was a chaotic battlefield, the power to bend the wills of violence and destruction.
“Is that the best image you got of him?” Mei asks sarcastically.
“All vectors that theoretically were able to take a high definition still of the craft were destroyed. This image taken by Sicario Leader’s gun camera while he was assisting Case is the only surviving documentation.”
“His vector stuck on me like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Perez remembers. “The only way I could shake him off was hard splitting with thrust vectoring.”
“Sky Four is estimated to have taken 70% of all destroyed vector assets with what we believe are a pair of syndicate standard light machine guns. Therefore, because of their reliance on a combination of superior piloting and high end technology rather than brute force armaments, intelligence has given them the designation: ‘Chimera.’ He is perhaps the most dangerous and unknown variable of Sky Team.” The Admiral closes the display, taking in the room of pilots.
Dead set determination sat within the room, a terrible darkness sitting within the controlled environment.
Mei blinks. “Well shit, they completely fucked us over.”
“Correct Major.” The Admiral tries to hide his smile through a prompt answer. “Sky Team has shifted air power to a point where the Consortium must fall to… unusual tactics.”
Perez raises his mind, the meddling of naval operations into vector control always resulting in disaster. “All due respect sir, but if these tactics involve…”
The Admiral stops him. “Do not worry Colonel, these tactics don’t even involve vector tactics themselves. Rather, something different. ” Admiral Balmer points to the display, the image shifting from vector to fleet asset. “This is Project Decimator.”
A vessel, her red hull painted with guargatian white letters that spell out her project namesake.
“What the hell is that?!” Perez tries to search through his memory, the design of a carrier, battleship, and botanical cruiser all crashing together to come up with nothing.
“Unknown.” Case responds once their database search comes up empty.
Admiral Balmer points at the environmental suit. “Case, good thing that didn’t show up on searches or else someone messed up good.”
Case gives a difficult nod.
“Project Decimator is a combat program designed for one thing: deterrence.” The Admiral explains. “I’ll spare the details, but the most important aspect of the project is the singleDecimator class battleship and its ability to project force with its vector teams.”
The pilots follow, almost.
“However, there is one vector team aboard, a single and unbreakable wall of technology and piloting. The answer to the Syndicate’s Sky Team, the equalizer of power.”
The photos of Perez, Mei, Case, and Markov band together as a vector team on the display. Suddenly, they all see it.
“We are calling it: Gaea Team. Meaning Earth, in the old language. And you will all be a part of it.”
The pilots sit stunned.
“Gaea Leader: Colonel Perez, callsign Sicario. With Two Consortium Stars to your name, you have lead vector teams across the world, and have saved countless Consortium Lives. Therefore, you are assigned the task to lead this experimental vector team. The lives of the pilots in this room, as of this moment, are in your hands Colonel.”
Perez looks around taking in his new squadron. “Alright people, here’s the deal I always Strike with my people. Follow me into hell, don’t do anything stupid, and when we’re done I'll buy you all real beer.”
The Admiral smiles, moving onto the rest. “Gaea Two: Major Yuryev, callsign Illya. A single Consortium Star and enough air kills to outperform most of the Consortium Navy. You will act as the primary vector screen for the team.”
Mei gives two finger guns, pointing them at Admiral Balmer.
“Gaea Three: Case. If I may go into more detail…”
“That will not be necessary.” Case interrupts.
The Admiral blinks. “Very well, however for the rest of Gaea team, know that Case is the best best vector pilot here in the 3rd Fleet.”
Admiral Balmer pauses before lowering his voice. “Anyone know of the Syndicate’s Pacifica Incident?”
Perez speaks. “Not everyday an entire carrier group disappears in a W-Layer updraft.”
“Don’t tell anyone I said this but...” The Admiral slows down. “Let’s say Case squadron did some work in Pacifica that week.”
The room is stunned at this implied revelation.
Mei's mouth hangs open. “What.”
“That is all.” Case stops Balmer before he could reveal more.
“Woah woah woah!” Mei has to physically shake her head to make sense of this. “You took out an entire carrier group with a squadron of vectors… computer blind?!”
“The task force… disappeared.” Case corrects. “I was not involved… officially.”
“Ahm.” The Admiral coughs. “Case will act as your Fleet tackler, a job I assure you they are very, very familiar with.”
The Admiral continues to the final member.
“Gaea Four: The as of now newly promoted Lieutenant Alek Markov. Callsign: Werewolf.”
The room falls silent again. Eyes dart towards the silent creature in the room.
“I don’t believe he needs any introduction.”
The pilots all take in their new assignments, the suddenness of this exchange allowing silence for their only answer.
“The four of you will be assigned to the Decimator as her primary vector force. Sky Team will have met their match with you.”
Perez raises his voice. “If I may point out sir; Sky Team wiped the sky with us, how can we as a team, much less without our squadrons, be a match for them?”
“I have no doubt on your abilities as pilots to destroy Sky Team in an equally balanced environment.” The Admiral speaks with utter confidence. “However, the technological edge they have with their vectors has wildly tilted the scales to their side. A scale we would like to balance.”
Admiral Balmer waits for any questions, before realizing none were coming.
“This new vector technology will be explained by my associate.” The Admiral reaches into his phone, putting it to his ear. “This is Jericho, Dalsma you can come in.”
The door opens once more, and all look at the well built Officer at the entrance. Markov recognizes him immediately. “I am Commander Jin Dalsma, thank you for having me.”
Admiral Balmer turns back to the pilots. “Commander Dalsma will be the Tactical Air Controller aboard the Decimator. Callsign Archangel.”
Markov raises an eye as the Commander walks in, clipboard in right hand. “Hello everyone, some of you might know me as Lieutenant Dalsma,” He says as he nods to Lieutenant Markov. “And I’m sorry for the deception. The Admiral wanted me to stay hidden from the involved Pilots for as long as possible.”
“No wait.” Perez blinks. “You wrote that piece on life after piloting right?! The whole guide to living post-service. I saw it on Military Today!”
“Yes I did write that Colonel.” Dalsma smiles, his credit finally getting some recognition.
Colonel Perez stares him down. “But you’re retired then. Something about loosing... an arm?”
“You are correct, sir. I was retired.” Dalsma raises the cuff of his right arm, flesh replaced with cold mechanical steel from the elbow down. “But Admiral Balmer needed an experienced pilot to consult with on the vector side of Project Decimator. I was conscripted into the program as a naval officer.”
Commander Dalsma continues after they watch him. “Losing the arm was the easy part. Navy desk jobs...”
“I am so sorry for your loss.” Perez jabs.
The Admiral clears his throat, realizing he was being butted out of the conversation. “Anyway, I shall return to the Command Bunker. If you need anything Commander, contact Sitz or, in an emergency, even me.”
“Understood sir.” Dalsma responds, waving the superior officer out.
Admiral Balmer takes one last look at the pilots, a deep breath flowing through his aging frame. “Earth speed all.”
They all watch as the Admiral disappears through the doorway.
“Well then!” Dalsma snaps his left fingers. “If you can follow me, I shall show you to your new vectors.”
Mei stops while standing. “Wait we got new vectors?!”
“Yes.” Dalsma turns around to face her, in his eyes a grand blue sky. “These new vectors are something amazing, custom built and modified. Experimental to the bolt. They are pretty much insane as you’ll find out.”
Perez almost calls out as Dalsma walks into the wall opposite of the door. Suddenly, he pushes the illusory facade aside. “If you will follow me.”
The briefing room was a mere entrance, an overly complex airlock to a hidden shipyard deep within the bowls of Ledenoft. Literally, an entire warship was somehow encased in the lower city center, a battleship constructed in absolute secrecy to the outside world.
Within, the lighting was brought by dozens of massive roof mounted flood lights, the artificial suns of the steel sky igniting the completed hull of the Decimator with human brilliance.
Immediately the adjustment of gravity flies into them. The internal dampening systems of the battleship was active, pulsing waves of gravitons across the now disassembling womb that brought her into the world.
For a second, inner ears are brought to confusion from the changing tendrils of gravity, then stabilize as Gaea Team approaches the source.
They form a walking line behind Commander Dalsma, the incredible amount of empty void allowing for a military indulgence of spacing.
From below the vector squadron looks up at the vessel dwarfing their tiny human figures. Salvaged steel brought up from the surface bent and reforged to create a primordial titan of ruthless and efficient war.
“God damn she’s massive.” Perez tries to keep his jaw from falling.
“Twenty meters larger than a Marv Class Heavy Carrier.” Case reads.
“You think the Akula could take her on?” Perez asks.
“Depends on the combat scenario.” Case shrugs, a action that was merely a small shuffle of the heavy quarantine suit.
“I’ll take that as a no then.” Perez gawks as they make their way towards the bottom of the hull.
The universe hung above them. Like some ancient being holding up the world, the seemingly thin scaffolding holding up the Decimator did not seem close to adequate for a hull her size.
Around her base, hundreds of construction personnel swarm around like bees. Workers trying to bring the almost birthed creature into a new life.
Commander Dalsma points to the shifting movement of people. “That access lift will be the last construction entrance point removed. She’ll become the primary vector launch Bay.”
“No net launcher?” Perez follows, the standard port and starboard mounted drag net for launching and recovering vectors a staple in modern combat.
He wasn’t sure it was safe, getting rid of such an important keystone of carrier operations.
“Nope, the vector system is something they salvaged off of an Exodus War Era Carrier.”
Mei frowns, the limited historical knowledge of her brain boiling up. “You think with all the kebs they’ve thrown at this they could’ve at least given us Earth War Tech.”
“Earth Tech would be launching vectors from topside.” Perez corrects. “Last time I checked vectors don’t have wheels anymore.”
The crowd of personnel stand clear of the squadron, the earned nobility of the Vector Crops parting a sea of workers. Blurred faces gaze at pilots, eyes of pure awe follow along with the movement of legends.
“I have a question Commander.” Mei strolls up next to Dalsma, her eyes a darting curio. “What’s happening to our old vectors?”
Commander Dalsma blinks. “Oh… they’re getting scraped.”
They all freeze in place, the steeds they’ve fostered suddenly taken away from them like children ripped from the arms of parents.
“Nah I’m just fucking with you guys.” Dalsma chuckles in usual Third Fleet fashion. “Don’t worry. All three of them have been transferred to the Decimator as her backup team and the personal artifacts within their cockpits have been placed within your respective quarters. I personally made sure everything was in order before anything else.”
A general sigh of relief comes from the pilots.
“Anyway, if you will follow me.” Dalsma motions for the lift; a giant twenty four by fifteen meter open air cable platform that was strung between the steel beneath their feet and theDecimator’s hull ten meters above.
Case stops before stepping on, the final step of the metal suit a mere inch away from the platform and the warning paint surrounding it. The voice that comes from the suit a twisting, unsure croak. “I am sorry, but I am afraid that this suit has quite some… mass.”
“This is a construction lift.” Commander Dalsma motions to the metal beneath his feet. “It loaded your vector into the launch bay, I’m certain that your… condition won’t be a problem.”
“I understand, however…” Case’s sealed helmet cranes up, looking at the hull that was a ceiling.
“You’re afraid of heights Case?” Mei chuckles, the tables turning from five minutes ago. “Pretty ironic don’t you think?”
“I will not say I fear heights.” Case responds with a robotic equivalent of mild concern. “Merely the consequences of a fall from such an intermediate distance is dangerous for a person with my disposition.”
Case stares at their team, who stare back in slight confusion.
Mei snaps, her memories of the emergency sortie within the Akula suddenly relevant again. “Case, don’t they lower you down into a vector?”
“They do.” Perez answers ahead of Case.
Mei continue forward. “This raises the question on your fear of heights right now.”
Case pauses, a well thought answer needing time to formulate. “It is easier to be held by the strong cables of man than to stand on the fragile legs of nature.”
Commander Dalsma looks over to Colonel Perez, as if he was asking permission to pressure his squadron’s Fleet Tackler into an uncomfortable situation. “Well don’t worry, even if you topple over you probably won’t fall off. It’s quite safe.”
It was difficult to tell what they were thinking. Within that steel case, beneath layers of reinforcement and life support, the human mind was shielded. Ultimately, even the most skilled readers of the human mind could never judge cold metal.
Case relents, taking a somewhat uneasy step onto the central platform.
Surrounding the lift, all the guard rails were removed for ease of access, the concept of safety an afterthought in the pursuit of Warcraft. The final barrier to a fast demise sudden and irrevocably removed.
As if walking a rope strung between cities, Case slowly links with the rest of their team. The moment they’re somewhat close to the rest of Gaea Team, the Commander turns around.
“Take us up!” Dalsma orders the lift operator.
The groan of electric motors rise as metal comes to life. Carrying four pilots and a Commander skybound, the slab of steel doesn’t break a sweat as it ascends into the warship.
Commander Dalsma casually strolls to the front of the lined up group, his voice loud and bellowing over the sound of crunching motors. A smile rolls along his face, like some salesman pitching a lucrative company share. “Let us begin then!”
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