Dangerous Again
28 Mar 2016TheDarkLord
Classified Location, Federation Space. Fer-de-Lance “TDL PhotonFlinger”.January 3302.
The carnage caused by PhotonFlinger’s armaments continued unabated. Now fitted with a Plasma Accelerator, armour, Frame Shift Drive Interdictor and A class shields, she is a formidable battle boat. My almost continual combat hours have been recognised by the Pilot’s Federation, who have now recognised my combat skills as Dangerous. I’ve been here before, and it feels like coming home. Although my history is far from resolved in my own mind, flashbacks have given me a little understanding of the events surrounding my sudden exit from space all those years ago. In this context, the awarding of Dangerous rank felt much more than an extra tick on my license. It was a reconnection with the days of old. I was different back then of course. While now I follow Imperial doctrines exclusively, back in the late 3200s I had no respect for any one or any law. I drove away those closest to me, and came perilously close to an early demise. The personal rebuildening had been more comprehensive than the asset-gathering I did at the back end of last year after I allowed the destruction of the Clipper.
It wasn’t just that I was older. I felt older. I felt almost as if subconsciously I had lived through the years of cryostasis. Grown up during them. I was understanding the value of friendship and comradeship, of being part of something bigger than just my own personal ambition.
The service of the Emperor had been starting to take its toll on my mindset. I was starting to have longing for tranquillity amongst the rocks. However, I knew that I must not let on, lest I dispirit our newer joiners. I had been given command of a squadron, and I had set aside my personal goals in order to bring this group to full operational capacity.
Night after night, we prowled amongst the stars. My junior comrades proved themselves eager to learn, and in the process were able to upwardly revise their service targets. They joined me aspiring to maybe reach Rank 3, and left with enough in the tank to cement Rank 4. I imparted my vision of maintaining ammunition supplies for the fierce fights, whilst still being utterly ruthless. We circled the wagons around those whose shields had dropped. We plundered the bases of our enemies whose security was insufficient, and coerced them into repairing and restocking our vessels that had suffered at the hands of their allies, intent only on inflicting further suffering upon them.
TDL PhotonFlinger basks during a repair/rearm stop after a heavy session flinging photons at Feds
I was repeatedly attacked by local security forces, but PhotonFlinger shrugged off their railgun slugs. I was trying to set an example for these new pilots to follow, and they seemed to be taking the bait. Oscar’s merit counter ticks over 1500, and he was desperate to head back to Imperial space to secure them and his 5m payout. I let him go.
Two friends showed up. Legion old-hands. Characters both. Avaddon is a quiet master of interdiction, Ziva likes to crash into stuff. It’s wisecracks a-go-go as we tear through flights of opposition. Our space-position discipline could use some work, and our shields take more of a battering from internecine hull-strikes than from our enemies. I keep the Plasma Accelerator sheathed, lest one of my wingmates interrupt its flight path with their ship. Two Fer-de-Lances and an Imperial Clipper work together beautifully. And there’s mirth over the comm link while we’re at it. Service doesn’t seem so much like service when it’s like this.