Merc Ops 3 - Watercooler
18 Jan 2018Leon Falkner
They sailed through the void, the tractless swirls of the jovian planet’s winds providing a backdrop to their angular warships.“200 clicks and closing.” The commander of the small wing of vessels croaked. “We should be right on top of them shortly.” The commander flexed his hand on the flightstick.
“Where the flux is our backup?” One of the newer recruits squawked. His eagle fighter was lightly armored and armed, his nervousness was apparent in his voice. Sweat was beading and floating away in the zero-g.
“They’ll be in situ as soon as we drop the beacon. Stay frosty. These are pirates we’re talking about here. They’re used to blowing up trade ships.”
“100.” Someone else counted.
“Check your targets. Keep yourselves alive until the big guns get here. Clear?”
“Acknowledged.” The wing chorused.
“50.”
The commander of the wing rolled his head around his shoulders. Ever since joining up with the Mercs, he knew he wasn’t one of the varsity players, but still running security wasn’t a big deal. Until times like these. Still, this wasn’t his first pirate war.
“Drop in T-minus five. Four. Three. Two!”
Fifteen ships popped out of existence with flashes of light. Below them sat a formation of rag-tag counterparts. For a moment, time dragged in slow motion.
A laser beam, red and fierce, pierced the void and the fight was on.
The furball roiled around as the Mercenaries’ ships pulled into position. Out the back of the cargo hatch of a Python dropped a small, flashing computer about half the size of a nav beacon. Their location began broadcasting to the system at large.
“Beacon deployed. Hold until relieved boys and girls!” The commander said, reeling his ship away from a spout of bullets that pinged off his shields.
The minutes dragged on as the battle raged. Ships exploded into fireballs in the vacuum. Then, four low wake signatures appeared in the outskirts of the melee.
“Friendlies?” one of the Merc wing asked the commander. He scanned his eyes over the new arrivals. A Python, a Fer-de-lance, an Imperial Courier, and a giant Type-10 Defender. They all looked a bit ramshackle, custom-painted and obviously custom-modified internals by their signatures. All the new ships had the same ID registration. “MIKUNN.” He smirked. The cavalry were here.
“Welcome to the party, Commanders!” The wing commander said, banking his Vulture around to avoid a collision. “Hop in, the water’s fine!”
As one, the four ships deployed hardpoints. The new ships bristled with laser cannons and machine guns. The Defender’s lower hull opened, and a fighter ship shot out into space and banked around.
“Alright, let’s reach out and touch someone!” The Defender’s Commander said pounding a button on the console. Five laser beams screamed across the battlefield, annihilating a hapless pirate Asp Scout in the blink of an eye. The ships fighter zipped off, lighting up another target as the laser cannons swung around to track. The wing commander blinked, holding back an awed swear.
The Courier shot off fast as a missile, and peppered targets left right and center with lasers and bullets. The wing commander couldn’t track the little ship with his eyes, and his scanner was barely keeping up with the agile ship’s trajectory.
The Python and the Lance were more predictable, moving with a decent clip for their size, but they converged on targets in pincer moves that not even the bulky pirate Anacondas could survive. The battle had looked even before their arrival, now it looked like a complete rout for the pirates was in order.
“... so as I was saying, I just don’t like the feel of the Core Dynamics ships, you know?” One of the Commanders, the Python, said on an open comm line.
“Too bulky?” The FDL asked.
“Too sparse.” Python responded.
“Yeah I know that feeling.”
“How’re you liking the FDL?”
The wing commander blinked. Was this really happening? The two pilots were chatting as casually as two people in line for the elevated tram in a station, but they were wheeling around, sending ships and debris shooting out across space.
“Oh, it’s a great ship. Excellent for this sort of thing.” The FDL whirled around, laser fire splitting an enemy Python’s shields into useless pieces of blue plasma.
“I just can’t pilot from the right side, you know. Just too used to flying from the left.” The Python pounced, its miniguns tore through the unprotected ship like a hot knife through butter.
“Yeah, I always thought it was odd that the primary control couldn’t be switched. I suppose it might be possible in the future but it’d need some mods.” The two ships danced away. The wing commander blinked, then gasped as the Python pitched upward directly into the aft end of the Defender. Shields flared angrily as the two ships bounced off one another. A hearty laugh split the comms and the chaos.
“Heh, I pitched up and all I saw was your ID tag coming straight for me.” The Python said.
“Ha!” The Defender’s pilot guffawed.
“Yeah, and the FDL has that damn rod right in the middle of the canopy right?”
“Yeah, you get used to it after a while. I don’t even see it anymore.”
There was a massive explosion as a Type-9 Heavy and its fighter were consigned to the void. Heat vents on the Mercenary ships glowed near yellow-hot.
“Still have no idea why Zorgon didn’t just put the main command chair in the center and offset the secondary above like anyone sensible.” The Python pilot mused as his ship bore down on a hapless Asp pilot caught between the four ships and their fighter.
“Then there’d be no more room for the giant gun!” The Courier pilot snarked as he rammed into the stricken ship like a battering ram, sending debris screaming in all directions.
Pilot’s Federation Commanders, the wing leader thought darkly as the battle wound down. To them, this is just another day in the office.