OBT Forum

Yep

And couldn't the Casper Drones land inside the ship? This way, it could have 5 Drones always ready and close by.

Caspers have a KF Core so not the best plan

Interesting!

Quote from: drakensis on September 26, 2013, 05:28:31 PM

Praetorian: "You want me to put what, where?"

I didn't think it was that cramped in the ship or that the Drones were so big.

Imagine being asked to put the leg of a man around your own size inside your body. There isn't room and even if it was, the possible openings aren't sized for it.

---

Entry #7
Over North America, Low Earth Orbit
Terra, Terran Hegemony
20:03 27 December 2766

“What’s going on, Praetorian?” demands the Admiral.

“We have to pick up that shuttle.”

Messages to the contrary are no doubt going to every remaining element of the Amaris forces in, over or around the city. That’s why my first move isn’t to send the shuttle up but instead out over the bay.

“You need to,” I amend myself. “I don’t have any medical teams aboard and that might be needed.”

“When I said we had issues with the chain of command I didn’t mean putting you at the top,” he grumbled but he turned away and gave orders to prepare to receive a shuttle.

It’s not just the shuttle leaving the area now. At Fort Baker they’ve finally got their drop-pads opened up and a handful of small, fast dropships are ascending. Once they’re recovered…

The fight will continue I suppose. But it’s not going to be more than a holding action. Drawing resources here and away from other parts of the globe. That’s the unmentioned elephant in the room. We can’t save Terra. The losses on the ground are too heavy and without the Caspars, the space defenses can’t hold out long either, not against the reinforcements that Amaris can call in.

We have to weight how much damage we can do to the Fat Man here against what good we can do elsewhere. We haven’t reached the tipping point that means it’s time to yet… at least to my mind. Still, other people have their own opinions. And may not, for some reason, want to follow plans put forward by sentient battleships.

The good news is that with the air defense and the remaining Republican fighters concentrating on the shuttle, I think the dropships have a good chance of escaping them. That’s hundreds of SLDF personnel rescued.

The bad news, of course, is that the shuttle’s passengers are probably more important. I unleash everything I have at the pursuing fighters, sending my remaining M-3 down to support the Strikers. Somewhere, somehow, Amaris had scraped together forty fighters. If they were all in one group or if they were all aerospace fighters, that would be enough but as it is half of them are airbreathers and they’re converging into the pursuit.

With fighters from the Enterprise – almost a full wing, probably filling gaps with survivors of the wings of ships that had been destroyed – coming down to take over I turn Strikers around and hit the leading elements head on. They punch straight past the startled leading squadrons, slashing at them as they go, and then engage the lighter conventional fighters behind them. Their targets are far too lightweight take that for very long and the sky is filled with the fireworks of their extermination as the Strikers pull high-G turns – something that doesn’t do their airframes any good – to come back around on the tails of the heavier aerospace fighters.

That puts the Rimjobs in a tricky situation: with the Strikers tailgating them they’re in no position to defend themselves, but if they break off fight back then their chances of catching the shuttle aren’t all that good.

And knowing Stefan Amaris, if they don’t show enough enthusiasm for killing the children on the shuttle, their own children might pay the price. There’s something deeply unhealthy about the rulers of the Rim Worlds Republic.

Only a couple of fighters turned back to fight – far too few to even slow my fighters. The others pushed their throttles open in an effort to catch the shuttle. That wasn’t any better for their fighters than the red-lining that the Strikers were doing but they had cockpits that they couldn’t afford to breach and that wasn’t a vulnerability that the drones shared. A few of them were fast enough to keep ahead – I wished briefly my wing included a few Interceptors – and close in on my shuttle.

As I hammer down fire upon the tanks on the bridge – the crews had had a sporting chance to get out and right now resource denial is the name of the game – I measure distances and hope that the fighters descending from Enterprise will win the race.

Gravity is on their side but they have further to go.

Through the marvels of technology I pop my face up onto a screen inside the shuttle’s passenger compartment. Well, not my face, obviously. I kind of don’t have one, but I have all of digitally recorded human history to pick from. Tom Jones, in his silver goatee era, is close enough for government work: mature and yet charming. They’re all strapped in, Colonel Keeler next to the potentially Cameron toddler and the other lady with one hand on the smallest of the three children sat next to her. Her kid, presumably. With that focus it’s the two tweens that notice me first.

“Ahhh! Creepy old man!” the girl shrieks.

…everyone’s a critic. “Don’t bug me, kid. I’m having a bad day. So. I know one of you for sure, can someone tell me who I’m delivering to Vice Admiral Mroczkiewicz?” I paused. “Okay, and before anyone says anything, I am aware that nobody else here’s day has been peaches and cream either.”

Colonel Keeler is cut off by the boy. “I am Lord Joseph Kurita, son of Lord Drago Kurita, Ambassador of the Draconis Combine to the Court of the Star League. And what is your name?”

Okay. That’s something. Not much, but something. “Call me Praetorian. Want to make the introductions, Lord Kurita?”

Colonel Keeler looks about ready to speak but restrains herself. Hmm. Edith Keeler. I wonder if she has a relative by the name of Edwin – or perhaps even a husband. Probably not, Keeler isn’t that uncommon a name.

“This is my sister Johnna,” (The other tween). “Our brother Tu.” (The younger kid. I refrained from asking where Wun had gone). “And our mother.”

“Charmed.” I pause and when he doesn’t go on: “Colonel Keeler? Who’s the sprog?”

“The child,” she tells me in a tight voice, “Is the First Lord’s daughter.”

That makes it official. I’ve ordered a full meal and got served a child’s portion instead. I reminded myself that with only one survivor from the improvised strike force, I was lucky to get anything at all. “Well done, Colonel. Do you have any information to report?”

Keeler hung her head. “Lady Cameron was shot during the escape. Amaris told her that the First Lord was dead. Ambassador Kurita joined the forlorn hope trying to reach Amaris’ command post.” She looks at the children. “He said that if they failed, he would not be taken alive.”

We both knew what that meant. Whether or not it had been necessary would probably be argued over at length but it wasn’t my concern. “I understand.” There’s a roar of engines and the shuttle rocks slightly.

“What was that?” Lady Kurita asks – fairly composedly under the circumstances.

“Enterprise’s fighters winning a race,” I tell her, watching the Republican fighters tumbling out of the sky.

incidentally, Praetorian's 'face'

incidentally, Praetorian's 'face'

 

“It suggests.”

“Yes?”

“You said ‘he’.”

“A slip of the tongue.”

The beauty of languages with a neutral case