Thrust Vector - Log 4: Ties of Metal
It returns.
In the abyss of unconsciousness Markov always had the same dream. No matter when or where he slept, it was like the cycles of the broken moon in the night sky, a waxing and eclipsing light that always repeated in the same unmovable motions.
The girl, the field.
Everything.
The doctors told him that the dreams would be common after his time in Block Nine. Their white smocks and aisles of ancient texts, the offices of plastic tables and archaic machines. Spoken words of medicinal language and easing smiles always came together to the exact same sentences and diagnoses.
But Alek had a feeling these were not the sort of dreams they expected him to have.
She was here, sitting on a small decline of the high grass, watching the distant sky move.
In her lap, an open book. Bound by carefully woven white string and real leather covers, the paper body was made of a thick gauge natural material. The book was an artifact of the Surface World, a piece of history from an era where precious resources were easily written upon.
She hums with thought behind her light voice, red eyes scanning across language as worded images play upon the pages.
The musical notes singing on the air were distantly familiar, a lullaby from a childhood memory that was slowly losing cohesion.
The girl turns her head the moment he sees her. “Alek… you know staying up this late is not good for your health.”
Alek blinks at her tenacity. “I know…”
In the months following his time, sleep was prison, the gateway to a place that was only exclusive to him.
She flips through the book, paper unshifting despite the fluctuating wind.
“I am curious Alek.” She begins as she brushes away her white hair. “Why do you enjoy head on passes so much?”
The girl laughs at Alek’s surprised expression.
“I don’t enjoy them.” He honestly returns. “It just… seems the most effective.”
“You did it during your fight with the Covenant… twice.” She smiles as she finds the page. “Are you just testing your luck?”
Alek is stopped at her words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you put in so much risk while flying. It doesn’t seem… logical.”
“I’ve always done that.”
She shakes her head. “No, you haven’t.”
Alek stares at her, a look she returns with care. “It's been a long time since you’ve flown a vector. Please Alek, be honest.”
“Is there something wrong with taking risk?” Alek asks. “A head on pass is the most effective tactic against a enemy craft with poor acceleration. Despite the risks, it was the best choice for the situation.”
She stares out into the distance, a memory within a memory coming alight inside her. She sighs. “It’s war…right?
Alek looks at her unphasing expression.
“And you always say war isn’t safe. One shouldn’t pretend it is.” She smiles to the wind after some time. “It’s quite funny.”
“What is?”
“When you are fighting in the vector you are the most close to death. And yet, you always try and find something even more dangerous to do on the battlefield. So much unnecessary risk, It’s almost like you don’t want to live.”
Alek is stopped at the words. “I…”
“Don’t.” She silences him lightly. “I know.”
On the book, the words shift. As if changing from eons of linguistic shift, the black letters that were nearly readable turn into otherworldly scribes.
“What is that?” Alek asks as he motions towards pages.
“This?” She stares at him like he just asked her to describe a color without colors. “Are you alright Alek?”
He blinks.
“Well it’s…” Behind crimson eyes she tries to formulate the words. “It’s… hmmm.”
There was an impossibility to her voice, as if meeting a philosophical paradox that couldn’t be solved with simple words. “I’m not sure.”
“How?” Alek scoffs. “You’re reading it, right?”
“How would you describe life?” She answers with a question. “You are living in it after all.”
She laughs at Alek’s confusion. “See? It’s not as easy you’d expect.”
Her joy turns to pity as Alek’s expression doesn’t change. She motions to the grass between Alek and Her. “Come, sit.”
Alek’s military fatigues transfer the coolness of grass into his heated body as he sits on the hilled decline. From the raised hill, one could see for kilometers, green fields endlessly stretching into the horizon before being broken by distant snow topped mountains.
She gingerly hands Alek the book. “Here.”
The words don’t make sense. Language for sure, readable as well. A certain familiarity hits Alek but not recollection. “What is this?”
She closes her eyes. “You know, people do things without truly understanding; guiding through tasks without having to know the inner workings of consequence and result. That is a terrifying trait of humanity, ignorance of your own actions, of your own self. Do you think so Alek?”
“I don’t know.” Alek replies.
“You should know. You’ve experienced it.” She murmurs as she points towards the book. “In the vector, you don’t think. There isn’t time to.”
The pages on the paper move, black text forming into jumbled messes.
“You lose your mind in the vector Alek. What creates thought becomes response, nerves don’t fire like they’re supposed to.”
Her voice calls to him. “Alek.”
He looks at her.
Her unstable voice feels genuine fear at the mention. “It's scary.”
“Why?”
“At that moment, you’re no longer… human.” She blinks horror from her eyes. “And me…”
“What becomes of you…” Alek continues.
“Do you know?” She asks.
“I don’t.” Alek admits.
She sighs. “I’m more worried about you Alek. When you pilot that creature, you don’t understand the world. You do things that you don’t normally do.”
Alek smiles, a short and thin expression. “Like head on passes?”
Her worried laugh is broken by concern. “Yes, like head on passes.”
She picks a blade of grass from the ground beneath them, turning the stalk over on her pale hands. “I suppose that is the reality of being a pilot. The more you try and live, the more you can’t.”
Alek takes the words, trying to process them. “What do you mean?”
Her voice trembles. “When you pilot the vector, you die Alek. What makes your mind yours gets turned into… nothing.”
Alek looks at her thin frame as she splits the grass on her fingers. She blinks as tears push within her eyes. “Is that what you really want? To totally destroy yourself in that chaos?”
Alek’s pale irises lock with her’s. “I don’t know.”
They don’t exchange words.
“It gets you home… alive.” She smiles as tears roll. “Even if it turns you… and me… into a monster.”
“A monster.” Alek repeats.
Something in the distance grabs his attention. At the back of his mind a creature scratches like the maw of a wolf against iron bars.
“Colonel Perez…” She smiles as she watches the grass flow. “He’s worried about you.”
“What?”
“Alek, promise me one thing.” She looks up at him, red eyes glowing as she smiles truthfully. “I want you to take care of yourself.”
Alek stares back at her unmoving frame.
“Afterall, it gets quite lonely in here.”
Lieutenant Alek Markov wakes to the sight of Colonel Perez’s well maintained frame at the foot of his cot, the Superior Officer’s voice slightly shaking Markov’s body as if jostling a sleeping child.
The Lieutenant blinks.
“Good afternoon Markov.” Colonel Perez shakes his head. “Welcome to the land of the living.”
“Sir…”
“I got worried when you didn’t show up to morning briefing. More so when the clock went past 1100. Had to basically break down your door to get in.”
Behind Perez, the six centimeter thick armored door was hanging open, spilling the hallway lights into the private quarters.
“What is the current time?” Markov coldly asks.
“1230.” Colonel Perez replies.
The young body blinks away the last vestiges of sleep, staring out into the dimly lit room like a starved prisoner preparing for another day of torture.
He stands as he shakes off the thin covers, his sleeping gear of military fatigues enabling him the sortie time of seconds.
“You don’t look so good Markov.” Perez says as he scans over the waking body. “When’d you sleep?”
In the metalloid mirror, the tired face of Lieutenant Alek Markov returns a cold gaze. A black shadow is cast upon his eyes, the dark circles of sleep deprivation evident.
“0600.”
Perez shakes his head. “Damn kid, you need to take better care of yourself.”
“A six hour sleep cycle is considered healthy.”
“That’s more if you sleep before 2400 and wake at 0600. Not sleep at 0600.”
Lieutenant Markov takes a minute to collect himself in front of the mirror, his mind trying to process the past two days of events.
“You know, most pilots crash after combat.” Colonel Perez watches as Markov readies himself. “I don’t think I’ve seen somebody stay awake for this long after a combat flight.”
The Lieutenant doesn’t respond as he rears his head. The battered and tired wolf ready for another day in the winter wasteland.
“Ready?” Perez asks.
“Yes.”
Officers, pilots especially, had certain privileges compared to other military personnel. Private quarters, questionably better food, and importantly; rationed alcohol. The vector pilots, however, had something incredibly rare in the modern militaries of the sky: free time.
Almost a consolation pay for risking their lives in brutal carnage, the pilots of the Vector Corps were only required to oversee the tending of their vectors and make battle reports, during non-combat situations of course. The rest of their time on and off duty was left to themselves. This copious unstructured time, combined with the massive personalities of each pilot, created a hotheaded yet tightly tradition bound culture unique to the most dangerous branch of the military.
And the most important tradition of all was upon the four members of Gaea Team.
The notes of fresh compound 19 was in the air, mixed together with the light smells of bioplastic paint. On the Flight Deck, four vectors were squared away and secured on the maintenance floor. Across their armor plates, the scars of war were left untreated. Tears of flak impacts exposing metal, foreign debris scattered across the floor, and several technicians were on each vector, extensive repairs grounding the chariots of gods.
Heads from across the cavernous room turn as the blast doors to the flight deck open.
Commander Dalsma, pure blue navy uniform amongst the brown of the vector corps, pulls his head up from a polymer cards table set up in front of the squadron of parked vectors. “Lieutenant, welcome.”
“Sir.” Markov states.
Commander Dalsma looks at the young and thin frame. Opening his mouth to speak, but the gestured wave of Colonel Perez’s hand keeps the concerned words contained.
“Markyy!” Mei pokes her head out from behind her Vector’s cockpit.
She bounds down from the ladder to metal flooring, standing in front of the fresh coat of paint. “What do you think?!”
Her fuselage was painted with open jaws stretching from nose stabilizers to air intakes. The long serrated teeth chaotically grown across the black as pitch mouth, covered in dripping, fresh blood.
Purple coloring, mixed to sky blue then dark indigo, criss cross across the hull down to the overshadowing engines like some overt dress worn to a rich and elite party.
Towards the dual plasma rifles, words were scratched in with blue on the capacitor casing.
WAR IS DEATH.
Combat incarnate, unfeeling and arrogant displays of power and weaponry. The life becomes the target, red crosshairs into flesh and blood.
“It is… archaic.” Markov supplies.
“Archaic?!” Mei looks at him. “Are you kidding me?”
“That’s two votes against one.” Perez declares. “Case! What do you think?!”
Case turns on their announce system, mechanical voice reaching the group from their parked vector. “I think nobody can see it because of the optical camouflage system.”
It takes a second for the words to be comprehended.
Everyone, technicians included, Markov excluded, break out laughing.
Case continues. “Mei, you began painting at 0500.”
“Shut up.” She sulks.
“Well hold on.” Perez stops everyone. “What about the discharge ionization? Doesn’t that disrupt the active camo and reveal the paint?”
“Yes it does!” Mei perks up. “It’s not as bad as the old one, but it has some residual effects. I can mostly stay cloaked even after firing.”
Perez points over to the technician working on Gaea Two. “Well start the damn thing up and let’s see it.”
The technician on the vector’s side taps a few buttons on her mantience tablet, the vector’s optical camo system activating under the orders of its doctor.
A key framed visual of the war machine distorts under agitated photons, the coat of compound 19 mixed paint integrating with the systems easily. Six hours of nonstop artistry disappear into the voidless distortions of the hull.
Perez motions with his hands towards the tech. “Throw me the ion… thingamajig.”
Obviously, Perez’s lack of experience with technology did not give him the upper hand in memorizing names.
What Perez catches is shaped like a brick with a handle and a trigger. A lens on one side was marked with the words: DO NOT POINT AT FACE; a discovery found after Perez points it at his face.
“Come on fire it up.” Mei ushers her superior as Perez gets in line with the forward facing weapons.
The ionic discharge of the small device highlights the vector’s optical camouflage system, simulating the distortions caused by an actual firing of the vector’s plasma rifles.
Normally the energy produced from the firing of high powered energy armaments would completely dispel optical camouflage systems, agitated ions overpowering the light rays of altered photons. But even when Perez cranks up the power to ten the distorted shape of the vector hangs on for dear life.
The only thing visible on the frame was the wide open maw of serrated teeth and deep dark void.
Case scuffles next to Mei as she observes the shape coming into formation. The suit of metal raises an angled hand, a display of minor art theory as they frame ratios and colors. Hidden by visual distortions, the mouth of demons seems to beckon to the pair. Like an eldritch god, something beyond the comprehension of man tries to rip their souls towards it. The endless abyss a gateway into the nothingness of death itself.
“That is terrifying.” Case concludes.
“Done?!” Perez yells as his old frame tires.
Case nods. “Yes, very much so.”
Perez turns the thing off as he hands it back to the technician, walking out of the distorted frame as the vector’s camouflage system turns off behind him.
His phone rings as Case sends him a photo from their suit’s camera, a photo that Perez stares with wide eyes. “Christ Mei, that’s…”
“Totally planned.” Mei points her two finger guns at Perez as she finishes his sentence.
“It was not.” Case adds.
“Oh shut up Case!” Mei playfully fires back.
Perez turns. “Markov, what do you…”
Lieutenant Markov was a mysterious and strange character to everyone. Perez had never interacted with someone quite like him in his entire time in the Vector Corps and Mei was pretty sure he was a reanimated corpse. Case, in their world of information and fact, could not quantifiably place him into a certain category of person.
They watch as his young and thin frame stands in front of the table lined with compound 19, within the mind a complete and utter unknown.
“He’s the weird one isn’t he?” Commander Dalsma’s soft voice comes between the pilots.
“Nah.” Perez chuckles. “This entire damn Vector team is a freak show. He’s no more weird than the rest of us.”
“So that’s Markov eh?” Captain Ano’s humored voice behind Dalsma makes everyone jump. “I never thought I’d see him in person.”
Pilots turn and look at him, eyes blank. “Captain.”
Commander Dalsma can at least hold some authority to the Captain in the room. “Sir… I thought you were on duty.”
“I am, just checking on all the staff. Post engagement and all.” Captain Ano replies. “I heard that Gaea Team was painting vectors this morning, thought I’d drop by.”
“There isn’t much to see then.” Dalsma looks over to the four parked vectors. “Only Mei has gotten serious progress done.”
“You mean Major Yuryev?” Ano looks at the closest vector to the cards table.
“Yeah, she’s been at it since 0500.”
Ano stares at the creature before him, the nightmarish creation that was definitely not under regulations.
He pulls Commander Dalsma aside, out of earshot to the pilots who give the pair a strange look. “I thought we agreed to have some anti air gunners watching. You know, IDing friendlies?!”
“We do.” Dalsma points at the mechanic’s station a few meters away.
The workstation was occupied by two personnel in navy blue fatigues, both talking and laughing along with a few pilots from the Decimator’s secondary vector team.
Most definitely distracted from the task given.
“Hey!!!” Captain Ano yells at them.
The junior gunners snap at attention as their Skipper calls them forth.
“Is this a good, identifiable paint scheme for a vector?!” He asks.
They look at each other in confusion as they get sucked into the maw of death incarnate. “Yes… sir?”
Captain Ano sighs, realizing that this was most likely a hopeless endeavor.
Vector pilots had a streak of independence, the Corps almost completely separate from the navy culturally. The war thought that came from order and constructed method was considered to be outdated by what was seen as chaos and carnage.
The Navy, with their massive vessels that carved through the sky, fought on completely different worlds in comparison to the Vector Corps.
And in full honesty; the Navies of this Broken World were judged not on the tactics of their Admirals nor the crews of their warships, but instead on the vectors and pilots they transported.
“Don’t worry Captain.” Colonel Perez smiles as he strolls past him, a loaf of stuffed bread half in his hand and half in his mouth. “Mei’s the biggest show off here. I think the rest of us will keep it pretty normal.”
“No promises.” Case rumbles through their suit.
Captain Ano raises his hands like he was slightly surrendering. “Your vectors, your wars. Just keep it presentable and in Consortium colors, Admiral Balmer wants some pictures sent over once you’re done.”
“Thank you Captain.” Perez finishes as he sets down to his workplace. “And we’ll try and keep this reasonable.”
“Good.” Captain Ano gets a call on his phone, the Communications Officer pinning him with a few messages from Fleet Command. “Well duty calls. I can’t wait to see what you pilots manage to cook up.”
“Already leaving?” Major Yuryev asks.
“We linked up with the Kronos and her Task Force a few hours ago.” Dalsma supplies from the staff briefing.
Obviously, pilots were not universally known for their attendance of daily briefings.
Captain Ano continues off of Commander Dalsma. “Sub Admiral Groningen has orders to escort the Decimator to Chadeisson. We will be arriving there by 0300 tomorrow.”
“Wait the Kronos?” Perez looks up from the snack in his hands. “The 91st Task Force is here?!”
“Yeah.” Dalsma blinks, then furrows his eyes. “You know’em?”
He swallows a bite a bit too much for his liking. “We did a joint war game exercise with them when I was with the Fifth Feet, four years ago I think. Those guys destroyed us.”
“Oh, that was back when I flew Electronic Countermeasures for them.” Dalsma recounts. “Was that the War Game over the Arctic Circle?”
“Yes!!!” Perez stops. “Wait, were you the Command and Control pilot running that anti missile ECM? Vector painted in that Blue green color?!”
“Yeah, I was.” Dalsma suddenly realizes that this privy information was very, very sensitive to Perez.
Perez laughs, trying to stay on his feet as he bellows so hard he cries. He suddenly goes serious. “Captain Ano, I need to murder one of your crew...”
“Just don’t hurt him.” Captain Ano dismisses.
“Hurricane fucking One.” Perez shakes his head, trying to make sense of his memories. “Christ Dalsma, how the hell did you manage to crash half the missile tracking units?”
“We did a IR net with Ghost and Lathria Team, had the entire airspace between theKronos and the Agiagon flooded into oblivion.” He stops himself. “And plus, in a real situation I don’t think anit-ship warheads will instantly disappear once jammed….”
Watching Perez nod with interest, Dalsma smiles. “I can show you how to create a one vector jamming net Colonel.”
“Damn, that sounds amazing.” Perez motions towards his vector. “Show me.”
Seeing them move off, Captain Ano extracts himself from the situation. Finding that the hidden world of the vector pilot had begun to subtly reject the organ that was the Captain himself, he silently strolls off the flight deck.
Metal and construction, the vessel halls salvaged from the surface had an air of ancientness to them. An era ago these were filled with the living bodies of sailors upon ocean, an endless plane of water and life surrounding them.
Today, it was displaced upon the clouds of the world, the origin of such metal construct miles beneath it. In a way, the men and women actively navigating their ways through the hull was a remembrance of its original intention.
Although high above the place once called home, they still clung onto the life that nature intended.
The Communications Officer waves to Captain Ano the moment he steps onto the bridge. “Call from Admiral Balmer Captain, I have him on hold.”
“He must’ve gotten the raw reports.” Captain Ano sighs as he takes his phone into his left hand. “Patch me to him.”
The dial noise reflects in the Captain’s ears before Balmer’s voice comes breaking through. From City State Transceiver to distant satellite to Battleship receiver to Phone, the Admiral’s speech is surprisingly clear.
“Captain!” Balmer sounds more pleased than concerned. “How is the Decimator?!”
“Fine… sir.” Ano replies with a surprised tone.
“Good good.” The noise of Admiral Balmer leaning back into his chair is audible through the comm line. “I’ve been spending the past few days reading over the reports. Can’t believe theDecimator saw some action in her shakedown cruise.”
“Yes sir, it was…”
“Covenant of Medditerria…” Balmer turns the name in his head, interrupting Captain Ano. “Damn, an entire city state in the middle of the Zone. Can’t even imagine that.”
“You don’t have to sir.”
“Oh I don’t doubt any of your reports Captain. I’m just surprised that thing has been there for the past few centuries undetected.” Balmer takes a sip of soy coffee. “The Covenant is probably responsible for all those disappearances in the zone. Hell, now we have closure to the Isacara.”
Ano sighs. “The Covenant even had a fleet to back the city up. A cruiser, frigates, and she herself acts as a supercarrier. All of them had Old War hyper jammers installed, no coms in or out of the area.”
Balmer grunts. “Damn explains that.”
“What do you mean sir?”
“The Zone and the jammers you mentioned is making it a nightmare to track her down. The Second, Seventh, and Eighth Fleet plus us are massing a Task Force around Medditerria right now just for it.”
From Captain Ano’s memory, the last time a task force was assembled of this caliber was during Operation Blowback. And even then, the undertaking was immense.
“They’re going to try and destroy her?” Ano raises an eyebrow.
“Forceful relocation.” Balmer eases. “But even with that much firepower I doubt we have the ability to do too much.”
Ano scoffs. “Well Gaea almost took her down, and that was with four vectors.”
The Tactical Officer sitting in front of the Captain turns and winks.
Balmer continues. “Yeah, I’ve been watching the footage your Tactical Officer sent to Fleet. It is pure and utter insanity.”
“I don’t know what you’ve unleashed here.” Ano nervously chuckles. “Those pilots and vectors are like gods incarnate.”
The Admiral sighs like a proud father. “Credit goes to Dalsma for that. He was the insanity behind Gaea. If you want to know more, ask him.”
Mei pauses as she sets down her paint brush. “Dalsma, I have a question.”
From the diagnosis tablet attached to Perez’s vector, Commander Dalsma looks up. “What’s up Major?”
“Why the hell are we called Gaea Team?”
Dalsma laughs, the noise echoing across the cavernous flight deck. “You guys really want to know huh?!”
Vector maintenance was a social event; the casual upkeep of the machine mostly left to trained technicians rather than the ignorant hands of gods. The pilots themselves always sitting at the table of war, isolated among themselves in casual drink and close analysis of combat.
Gaea suddenly stops their tasks, listening in on Dalsma’s answer.
“Originally it was supposed to be called Angel Team.” Commander Dalsma pauses as he adjusts Perez’s vector’s broadcasting strength. “But after your engagement with Sky Team, it seemed only appropriate to change it.”
“Gaea.” The Admiral explains to Captain Ano. “It means Earth in the Old Language.”
“Earth?” Ano asks.
“The utter opposite to the sky.” The Admiral smiles, a expression stretching from one end to the other. “The air has always tried to destroy the Earth beneath it. Rain, lightning; wind and snow, these things are the curses it sends upon the surface.
But yet, the world beneath fights back. The rain and snowmelt becomes the drink of life, the lightning strikes the fires that burn open dense forests that choke the young, and the wind carrying upon its hateful backs the seeds of new life.
Gaea was the vector team created to fight in a new war. A war against the Syndicate sure, but we have twisted its purpose against Sky Team. That is what Gaea is; the embodiment of avantage. To make the worst out of the things dealt to you, to explore what seems like a hopeless situation to find the doorway to new life.”
“Sounds like you’re running a speech past me.” Ano scoffs. “Actually, it seems like the only reason you called me up today is to run a speech past me.”
The Admiral grins. “Well, it’s gonna be one soon. I’m going to announce the Decimator Project in a day give or take.”
Ano suddenly wakes, his eyes open. “You are?”
“Let’s just say there’s no way to launch a Battleship without some images coming to fruition. The kids at Propaganda are going crazy about the Third Fleet building something larger than a fast battlecruiser and Fleet Intelligence is giving them so many crumbs the Central Board gave me a direct phone call.”
“All due respect sir, but I thought this thing will be kept under wraps.”
Balmer chuckles at the naïve statement. “It's hard to keep a battleship under wraps these days Nathaniel. Plus, we’re going against the Syndicate here. They’ve released squat nothing on Sky Team except how badly the Consortium will be destroyed by them. Once Gaea Team goes public we’ll see how they panic. Information warfare is our specialty after all.”
Colonel Perez blinks at Dalsma’s revelation. “Public?”
“Yeah.” Dalsma smiles. “What do you think about that Colonel?”
“Damn.” Colonel Perez looks to his vector team, three sets of eyes looking back at him. “As if we weren’t well known before…”
In the background, the musical notes stop as the voice of a civilian broadcaster comes through.
This is Chaddession Media center, broadcasting on 710 AM. Today’s forecast is clear blue skies and a straight nine kph cross wind traveling eastbound. Temperatures will range from fifteen to twenty degrees celsius, and W-particle counts are at seventy seven.
“Perfect day for a training session.” Perez comments. “Maybe have a few rookies out there for solo flights and a war game or two.”
From the Bureau of Information: The Syndicate has continued raids on salvage operations in the Europia Sectors, and the Bureau reminds you that loose lips sink ships. Please keep all deployments, civilian and military to yourselves. This is critical to the safety of both your families and the Consortium.
The civilian broadcaster prepares his next lines.
The Syndicate’s Vector Squadron: Sky Team, has continued operations in Asea. Raids are reported as an increasing number of operations are projected to occur within the airspace of Rictar, Sacramentos, and Ural. Citizens of these city states are asked to keep a vigilant eye for any suspicious activity.
“Fuck they’re doing city state raids now?” Mei stares.
“They are merely attacking outbound shipping from these areas.” Case supplements, tying into the Third Fleet’s Intellegence Database. “Not direct strikes on city states.”
“Now if that were true that would be bad.” Mei shrugs. “Can you imagine a strike on a City?!”
Perez looks at Mei’s dismissal. “It doesn’t make it less worrying. Considering that Sky Team is able to field in such a large airspace, nobody is really safe.”
Case shakes their head, a movement taken to the brink of invisibility through their environmental suit. “Sky Team’s usage of hypersonic deployment sleds only allows for deployment, not extraction. Therefore, it necessitates a nearby vessel or platform, limiting their deployment ranges.”
The Third Fleet will be issuing a statement regarding Sky Team at a future date. Stay tuned to this channel for more information coming later this hour.
Now: Ends to Meet, by Zero.
Music returns onto the channel, a spanish guitar layered over a digital orchestral base echoing across the flight deck.
“Well don’t worry everyone.” Perez looks over to his Team. “We have the Decimator as our tender and launcher. It’ll limit vector ranges but we’ll be covered from everything, against Sky Team we can leverage friendly forces.”
Dalsma blinks. “Damn Colonel, you should be in my chair. You got the mind behind it.”
“It’s just a side effect.” He waves him off, pointing to his Vector Team. “Once you kids get as experienced as I am, you’ll be doing combat controlling in your goddamn sleep.”
“Kid?!” Mei laughs at the title.
“He’s got almost a decade on me.” Dalsma points with his metal analog hand. “Colonel’s ancient. There are about what, fifty pilots over forty in the Corps?”
Perez stops, raising a finger at the Commander. “Hey I’m thirty nine you bastard. I’m still young.”
Case cuts in. “Colonel Fernando Perez is the oldest Vector Pilot aboard the Decimator. Second oldest in the Third Fleet.”
The finger adjusts, moving to point at the mechanical suit. “Case, you are five meters away from something very bad.”
The low, mechanical chuckle from the creature sends Mei into a bursting laughing fit.
Admiral Balmer sighs. “How are the pilots holding up by the way?”
Ano blinks at the question. “You should ask Dalsma that. As you said, he’s the person closest to them.”
“Then how is your crew interacting with them?” Balmer continues.
Between Pilot and Sailor, there was separation. Gods and Heroes were elevated atop peaks carved through by an uncrossable valley.
The mountains turned pedestals designed and chistiled by the Propaganda both rose these men and women into the sky, visible among all the inhabitants of the cities between them.
Simple sailors were turned into heroes of war, the first line of defense against total and utter annihilation at the hands of the Syndicate. The warships they maintain and fight upon pieces of absolute majesty, ancient places where the halls of heroes line.
But Pilots, pilots were ascended. Beyond the constraints of man, these beings of flesh and salvaged steel take to the skies in idolic and sacred vessels. Warriors sure, but in comparison to the summits of Sailors, Pilots of the Vector Corps were Olympian gods. The skills and talent, training and experience were of utter and absolute divinity. Propaganda raising the men and women of the new war into the heavens and beyond.
“Awe, fear, I’m not very certain.” Captain Ano admits. “They don’t meet much in the middle.”
Balmer shrugs. “Yeah I understand. They’re all a bit special in their own ways.”
“Special is an understatement sir.” Ano blandly states. “The culture comes with the job.”
Carnage and skies were married in war, the anthem of the vector was so ingrained into their beings there was no separation between armor and flesh. In combat, there was only the vector.
Perez looks up at Commander Dalsma’s frame. “By the way, where the hell are our unit patches?”
“Oh unit patches!” Commander Dalsma almost drops the diagnostic tablet on his hand as he points out a idling mechanic from one of the Decimator’s other vector squadrons. “Hey you! Get me the Unit Patches for Gaea!”
She stares at him in confusion.
“In sub locker 17R in requisitions! Just ask for Gaea Team’s patches!!!”
“Yes sir!” She snaps a salute before sprinting off of the flight deck.
“What’s our ETA for the vector painting?” Dalsma turns to Gaea Team.
“These things take time.” Case murmurs.
“Yeah they do.” Perez retorts. “Maybe at 2300, if we all really actually do our work.”
“Doubt.” Mei cuts in.
“Oh come on it didn’t take me this long to paint my vector.”
“That is because your squadron used full vector paint schemes, two colors only.” Case sends a video of combat footage from Commander Dalsma’s time as a pilot to Gaea Team. “It was not very creative.”
Since the Exodus War, camera technology had long degraded from incredible holographic imaging to more efficient, grainy, and lower quality systems. In the sky, the cutting edge had to be traded with reliability.
The video received from Case’s file search comes up as publicized combat footage from Operation Blowback; one of the more recent raids on a City State.
A formation of vectors bank eastward as a massive steel construct breaks through the clouds. Covered in visual noise, the emblem of Hurricane Squadron is just visible on the port fuselages of the vectors as they silently thunder off into battle.
The view switches suddenly to the gun camera of an unknown vector as it dives for a strafing run. A peripheral anti air cannon explodes as its crushed under the explosive power of a pair of rockets, the pilot pulling into the center of the city to draw away incoming fire from the defense systems.
A singular vector streaks past the top deck of a unknown navy vessel, painted in deep blue and naval steel, the relative speed only gives the camera operator a miniscule moment of time to capture a moving image of the craft.
Switching from naval vessel to vector tender, they are given a better view of Hurricane One. The shape of a heavily modified electronic warfare vector approaches the refueling probe as the city in the background burns. Coolant dumps off of the craft’s rear as fresh and unheated fluid is siphoned into the regulator tanks.
The pilot within raises his flight helmet as he gives a thumbs up.
“Holy shit that’s Dalsma!” Mei yells.
From the gun camera, Hurricane One disengages from the probe. For a stomach turning second the vector banks hard starboard, the image of a vector tender turning into the steel construction of an under fire city.
“Those were the glory days.” Commander Dalsma sighs.
“Well they weren’t very creative days am I right?” Mei pokes Case, who stares at her frame like a annoyed cat.
“Ok, two tones make it harder to hit.” Dalsma insists. “It's a question on target acquisition!”
Perez waves his hands. “I believe it is now time to remind everyone that Dalsma here flew electronic warfare and combat control, not a specified attacker or fighter role. Just saying…”
“You guys really are throwing me under the recycler here.” Commander Dalsma smiles as he exhales with surprise. “God damn if I knew what was coming to me when I signed up for this I would’ve thought about it.”
Colonel Perez shakes his head. “Admit it, the moment you sat in that white plastic chair at outprocessing you were looking for any way to slide back into the cockpit of a vector.”
Dalsma blinks. “Well I admit, it wasn’t exactly tragic that my discharge got cut short…”
Perez shrugs, a ‘there you go’ gesture towards him.
“Sir.” The young voice seems completely out of breath as she hands Dalsma a stack of stickable sheets of compound 19 two meters in diameter. “I have Gaea Team’s Vector Adhesives and the Uniform Patches.”
She reaches into her fatigue’s breast pocket and takes out a handful of velcroed patches. “Here are the Uniform patches.”
Gaea Team is immediately on the spot, trying to catch a peek at the designs drawn up for them.
“Hey hey hey!” Commander Dalsma tucks the sheets of classified art away into his chest. “Captain Ano has to give these out. Not me.”
Tradition triumphs over curiosity. In the sky, anything that could remotely degrade pristine luck was shunned, and supertistous values were instead celebrated in what could be seen as ironic followings.
Admiral Balmer perks up at Ano’s silence, taking the opportunity to splice his own direction for the conversation. “By the way, when do you think the Pilots will be done painting?”
“Major Yuryev is already done.” Captain Ano supplies. “I’m still not certain how long it will take for the rest to finish however.”
“Do you think they can finish by 1300 tomorrow?”
Captain Ano sighs with a chuckle on his voice. “You’re asking Vector questions to the navy Captain. It's like trying to catch a bird with a fly swatter.”
Admiral Balmer blinks. “I’m very concerned with how they’re integrating with one another. Nobody’s ever gotten such a diverse vector team together, especially with each member’s personality being so different.”
“They’re Vector pilots.” Ano assures. “And from what I’ve seen they act like they’ve been serving together for years.”
Captain Sitz’s voice calls out to Admiral Balmer in the background, slightly impatient and extremely agitated. Balmer lowers his voice. “Sorry Captain, I must go.”
Captain Ano nods. “Good day Admiral.”
As he slides the phone into the pocket, Captain Ano gazes out towards the sky.
Although a days time away from the Meddeterria Zone, the atmosphere in the area still had a hint of green to it. The modified terraforming alge left behind after the chaos of the Exodus War still blowing up from the surface at six kilometers up, mixing together with the fine particles of sand from the Grand Desert beneath them.
Off to the Decimator’s port bow, the assault carrier Kronos powers through the crosswind. In her wake, a handful of vectors from her complement run remote triangulation, preemptive recon towards any transmissions emanating from the Zone.
In fact, the entire Task Force surrounding the Decimator was beaming with active sensors, trying to gaze through incredibly thick interference hundreds of kilometers away. Though, even the specialized Command and Control Frigate was dwarfed when compared to the Decimator’s sensor suit.
The Operations Officer was quite certain the radar pings they were sending through the zone could cook a seabird at a dozen meters, and already they’ve found several unidentified vessels picketing the borders of the interference, sharks peaking their heads above murky waters.
Certainly, the Covenant was keeping an eye open for Consortium blood. Even in their wounded state, the overt zealously of sons and daughters crashes through safe and simple tactical planning. Frighteningly enough, their wantent and almost uncontrolled thirst for blood was more worrying for the Consortium and Syndicate than careful and planned analysis.
A suicide attack always enacted more casualties than a surgical raid for both players of war.
However, despite the concerning levels of foreign activity in the zone, the entire eight hour duty shift came to a close peacefully.
The sun, risen from the east, moves slowly to the west as the bridge sleeps through the tiny list of repairs aboard the Decimator.
She was a well built ship. Her personality, a superstitious belief taken from the eras on the world below, had a strong and independent streak to it. As if she had a mind of her own, the repairs that were required of her refused to make headway under the basis that there wasn’t a problem to be solved.
Famously, the vector launcher that ate Colonel Perez’s previously assigned craft yesterday was still in pristine condition. It mashed metal and steel as if it was simply proving a point; that Gaea Team and herself could easily take care of the incoming threat alone.
In a way, it was a good omen to both the vessel and her primary vector team. Though, the price of one of the most expensive pieces of hardware in the sky was not exactly a fair trade for luck.
Captain Ano nervously gets up from the command chair, careful as to not disturb the tendrils of good fortune flowing near him.
“Guess it’s a slow day.” The Tactical Officer sighs.
“What you wanted some action?” Communications scoffs.
“Guns ain’t gonna test themselves.” She responds.
“I guess taking down a Cruiser can’t sate your bottomless bloodlust.” Captain Ano takes his leave as he steps off the bridge. “I’ll be on the flight deck if you need me.”
“Yes sir!”
Truly, vector pilots were all artists in their own end.
As Ano steps onto the flight deck the change in atmosphere was completely stagnant from the morning hours.
The casual talk still echoed across the air, however, there were a few more members of the crew joining into the conversation. Words of naught meaning chamber across the cavernous deck, and Captain Ano almost slips in undetected amidst the shuffling of a few dozen feet.
“Captain!” Commander Dalsma materializes next to him.
Most eyes straighten to the presence of the Commanding Officer, a presence Captain Ano dismisses with a wave of his hand.
In the cold air, the smell of a frying protein ration hits the Captain, triggering a certain desire to consume substance in a unwantant, unrestricted manner.
“Captain.” Dalsma whispers to Ano, handing him a stack of patches. “Gaea Team unit patches are here. You have the responsibility of handing it out.”
“Me?” Captain Ano blinks. “Now?”
“Nobody else commands this ship.” Dalsma counters. “And they’ve been waiting for the past six hours.”
Ano nervously smiles as he takes the patches from Dalsma.
The military was built on tradition. And never leave it to Ano to break the age old traditions. They laid out like mineral strata over the course of centuries, a constant repetition of events and movements that created the bedrock of the armed forces.
Voracity could wait.
“Gaea Team!” Ano is surprised at the volume of his announcement voice.
Four eyes dart towards him.
“How are we supposed to execute this?” Ano quietly asks Dalsma.
The arbiter to gods and warriors stares at him blankly, the oracle left without answer to the wandering hero.
“Your plan sir.” Dalsma shrugs.
Colonel Perez, Major Yuryev, Case, and Lieutenant Markov all stare at Captain Ano with hungry eyes, frames like griffins ready to take down a wandering traveler entering their domain.
In his hands, he spreads four patches each the size of his palm. An offering, a gift, a tradition unbroken.
Ano makes something up as he speaks. The voice carries weight as the deck silences itself to hear the constructs of bestowed power. “Gaea. The words of the old language mean Earth, and today we cristen upon battle the vector team created to fight in a new war. A war against the Syndicate, a faction that weilds a weapon they believe to be exclusive. However, we have created our own. The embodiment of avantage is built into this wielded sword you see before you.
Colonel Perez, Major Yuryev, Case, Lieutenant Markov.
With these heroes united together, we can meet any match anyone throws at us.”
Four hands reach out towards his, gods accepting the offering of mortals.
The patches are distributed as fast as humanly possible, and the pilots all stare into the patterned fabric.
Four vectors break into a curved horizon, trails of fire slicing across the black of upper atmosphere against the backdrop of the broken moon. Beneath their forms a green and blue surface: an earth before the ravages of the Exodus War, a long dead paradise destroyed by the very children she birthed.
Gaea, the betrayed mother at their feet shattering as power incarnate breaks pure and constructed order. Gods taking flight beyond the confines of their fertile lands, leaving a trail of terrifying destruction in their enraged wakes.
Across the white borders, the words are written in hard handed font.
GAEA
“Fuck these are sweet.” Mei comments as she slaps the Velcro patch onto her uniform’s shoulder.
“Interesting design.” Case’s optical sensors examine the patch before the arm folds it into one of the many suit pockets.
“Captain!” Colonel Perez’s voice grabs Ano’s attention. “I believe you wanted to have some photos of the vectors and us?”
Captain Ano chuckles. “The Admiral did, but are you finished yet?”
“Of course!” Colonel Perez laughs. “We’re Pilots.”
The small pack of people leads him towards the first craft.
Electronic countermeasures were lined together like rifles atop armory lockers. A triple gauge engine system was racked together with the central fuselage, armor matching transceivers.
The battlefield revolved around a singular point, the vector of Gaea One owned the very basis of war.
Control flowed through the veins of metal, the armies of the sky, reliant upon the salvaged technologies lost to time, had their metallic crutches kicked out from crippled legs at the flip of a switch.
Electronic Warfare was twisted together with the vector, a construction of conventional war and futuristic technology that was the basis of battlefield command and combat control.
Multicolor Camouflage is crossed across the entire craft; a militaristic pattern of blue and cloud white is extended from the belly to cockpit, while a darker color of sunbaked earth is splattered upon the topside.
From below, the shape is broken into sky, and from above, the dead earth beneath their feet blended with the camouflage.
Eyes are drawn towards the digitally applied coating of compound 19.
Upon metal, a background of a setting sun is pushed behind two young faces. Looking skyward towards the nose of the craft, a vector cuts through a distant sun, trailing a line of white exhaust. The eyes of the Colonel are reflected in the eyes of the young adults, pure brown iris staring off into the sky.
Letters are painted in red cursive.
FOR MY SONS
FOR ALL OUR SONS
“Those are your… kids? ” Captain Ano carefully asks.
“Yeah.” Perez sighs with blank eyes.
“Oh.” Ano nods.
In the navy it was impossible to raise children. The monstrous distances between the cities leaving just enough time to visit home, boost morale, then return to deployment.
Most of the time, complications regarding children and naval service ends with forced discharge.
After all, offspring at the knife’s edge of existence were beyond any sort of duty to the national purpose. A single life could change the entire course of a city state, and perhaps the world.
“Well it’s really well drawn.” Ano finishes.
“All art credit given to Case…” Mei whistles.
“Case?” Captain Ano turns to the metallic creature behind them.
The thing raises two hands as if it was surrendering. The voice within the filters seems slightly… embarrassed. “The concept was given by Colonel Perez, I merely provided the sketch.”
“The sketch is the complete product.” Perez points at Case with lifted finger. “Ultimately we just compound 19’d it onto the vector. I have no credit to take.”
The pilots all laugh, and Captain Ano grins slightly as he takes out his phone.
Colonel Perez takes a saddened smile as he poses next to the craft, Captain Ano composing his image next to the sketch and in front of a engine intake.
Famine.
In the altitudes of the Modern World, aerodynamics were close to impossible to exploit. The thin air could barely launch winged craft, and vectors themselves confided to the rule of brutishly powering through the sky. Though, the engineered shape in front of their eyes challenged that conception.
Like a blade, the swept control surfaces and fuselage were made to cut air. Combining standardized methods of sheer power as well as the ancient techniques of finesse, the creature before them was of decedent battle.
With camouflage more made to inspire fear and awe, it was an overt sort of design. Arrogance and combat was matched in perfect harmony for glory and fame.
Mei leans on one of the plasma rifles, flipping her long blonde hair as she points a finger gun at Captain Ano’s camera aperture.
War.
Dalsma blinks at Case’s vector. “You know, for all the flak you give me Case, you didn’t really paint that much.”
A metal mass, plates of additional armor were stacked atop a base level of already colossal armor. The vector of Gaea Three was of metal and salvaged steel, fortified against any attack.
Across its surface there was nothing except scars. Metalloid craters and gnashes in the fuselage and engine construction told stories of carnage, warfare fought at the bleeding edge of existence.
The only artwork on the naked vector was the Eagle of the Vector Corps. In front of a blazing star the spread wings of chaos shadow glory, creating a halo like structure around it. Their saviors and gods, all were animals within.
It was raw, bare. The armored creature more machine and metal than living flesh.
Captain Ano levels the camera at Case, their massive environmental suit blocking any expressions emanating from its core. Metal blends into metal as the picture is taken.
Uncensored, the reality of the Pilot’s War.
Conquest.
Lieutenant Alek Markov was hidden in his own corner of the universe. Since his arrival in the afternoon the only words exchanged from him was to his Vector’s technician team and Colonel Perez. Even then, they were of the barest minimums of statements and questions, with Perez’s questions and attempts at integration folded away into total and unwavering focus towards the task.
Armed to the teeth, the vector of Gaea Four was built for the extremes of combat, where tactics and intelligence were traded instead for mindless destruction.
Two machine guns face forward, circular muzzle breaks edging in front of the hidden bodies of weaponry.
A singular thirty millimeter rotary autocannon crashes through the nose construction, an overt and brutal weapon of the Old World consuming elegance and honor in a pitched roar of lead and fire.
All eyes, however, are drawn towards something else.
“Oh my god…”
The girl faced towards the craft's centralized weapon system. The massive cannon of monstrous concept was stopped by the crafted armor, then broken by the thin frame of a pale faced being. White pedals fly from the garden of white flowers at her bare feet, snow hair fluttering in unseen wind.
Her long, slender hands were clasped together, crimson red eyes looking out towards the sky for a distant lover.
There were no words, only the tragic expression upon her face to speak into the grand blue.
She stands beneath the pale full moon, the white planetoid unbroken, unwounded by war.
Dumbfounded, the pilots watch.
“Who's that?” Mei asks.
“She’s…” Markov tries to find a name, a title, some kind of identification.
Like trying to remember a lost memory, the mind saw nothing.
“I don’t know.”
They are all drawn towards her deep eyes, the spheres reminiscent of a longing prayer to an unknown God. A river of tears flow down her pale face, those of unwavering worry flooding the girl’s unknown mind.
Captain Ano needs time to reorient, the art utterly consuming in its creation.
“Lieutenant.” The Captain calls as he levels the lense to Markov’s vector.
In the turning of his head, Alek Markov’s face blurs ever so slightly. Thin frame against the vector’s cannon, cut from the hip down by the barrel of a machine gun. The photo comes out; the girl and Markov in a grainy composition against a background of the rusting flight deck. Within unseen and blurred eyes, there was nothing. Nothing except
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