Personal Log 12.12.08 // No Retreat. No Surrender.
12 Dec 2022Gaz Ubermick
+// Log Entry Start+// [Date: 12.12.3308]
+// Location: Farkas Oasis, HIP 23716]
It's been four days since the crushing news came down. Everything we'd done to now - all the kills, the combat, the evacuations... was for nothing. Reports from HIP 23716, where humanity had been pouring the lion's share of its efforts to establish a beachhead had failed. There was a massive resurgence from the Thargoids, and we were back to square one. The despondency, the absolute shattering of morale. So many just gave up. Hell, I gave up. I retreated back to my cabin and sought solace in the bottom of a bottle of Lavian Brandy, and the arms of that cute repair tech from Sesuang. She might be a former Fed, but she has a way of laughing that...
But as the old Earther saying goes, when life gives you lemons, shove them down somebody's throat. I gave myself that evening for a pity party, but this morning it was back to work - and thankfully, the same went for the pilots of the AXI and Operation IDA.
And now I'm sitting here dictating this because... well, there's nothing else I can do right now.
The emergency services team are currently loading the last of hundreds of critically wounded into the cargo hold of the Midlife Crisis. I frantically refit the Cutter with as much capacity as I could, a mix of cargo space and passenger cabins to be able to get the most people out as possible. Seeing people loaded into the hold of my ship like any other commodity is something I'm sure I'll have nightmares about. But the condition some of these people find themselves in, with the caustic burns and... the meds thought it'd be best to get them sealed and into temporary hypersleep. I've seen the Thargoids scooping up escape pods, collecting them for who knows what end. They're not getting their claws on these ones.
But as I sit, I remain silent, finger hovering over the launch button. Ignoring the calls in the back from frightened people, begging to leave and get to safety. What they don't know is that right now, in this hangar, this is a hell of a lot safer than lifting off.
I can hear them outside.
Those inhuman screams their ships make. The crackling of their energy weapon. The howls of a Thargon swarm. By my estimate there are at least two interceptors out there, possibly three, and who knows how many scouts.
They're still begging me to leave. Not in this.
When I... No, IF I... NO, WHEN I get back to Tarach Tor, this is going to be the last evac mission for a while. Repairs to the Ellen Ripley should be done by now, after she took a beating outside Wakata Station yesterday. I had the distinct pleasure of sending a hundred or so of the invaders back to meet their maker, flying in a wing with Kal and Omni. Mark showed up, fresh from the tech broker with shiny new Gauss cannons. Even Zarozina, Empress of the Emporium arrived to lend a hand and for a moment it was like the old days. Only instead of fighting for territory and glory, it was for survival. I can't believe we're in a fight this grim. I can't believe it's all come to this. I can't...
Wait. Shit.
It's quiet outside. I'm going for it. Requesting launch clearance, I'm oscar mike.
+// Log Entry Ends