SANGUIS STELLA SYSTEM
NEAR VIRIDI CALIGO
CVK - 1057 - VIGILANT SENTINEL
The void of space was pierced by azure flashes as its very fabric was torn apart. Emerging back into real space came the Karaigian strike corvette Vigilant Sentinel, followed by an array of alien ships in size and design. These ships formed the current International Piracy Task Force, headed by the Karaigian Empire in their sovereign territory. Though the Nation didn't need extra hands to deal with pirates, the prospect of interactions with possible future allies was a perfect reason to welcome the ships into the Empire.
At the helm of the Vigilant was Captain Bartholomew Torren, a veteran of many years in the service of the Karaigian Navy and a shrewd commander, Torren was the de facto leader of the combined fleet as long as it remained in Karaigian Territory. He turned to his bridge, bustling as ever.
"Squadron Status?"
"Nyte, Huerdaen, Shyurian, Setulanite vessels in formation. The PLSM vessel just dropped out of warp space."
The Captain of the vessel looked out across the formation that built up around him, specifically the PLSM vessel. It was massive, sitting at over a kilometer, it was much slower than the rest of the Squadron, but it made up for that with firepower. Still the ship, along with the rest of the Squadron was dwarfed by the massive green sphere of Viridi Caligo. The gas giant was massive, and set an eerie green glow throughout the bridge. More importantly, the Jovian world was their destination as the Vigilant was aimed for Horizon Anchorage to resupply and rearm."
"Any reports?"
"All lights are green across the fleet." said one of the numerous ensigns. "However reports indicate a pirate vessel has been reaving in sector."
"Good" said Torren. "It has been at least four days since our last catch. Inform the Squadron of the discovery, as well as our intention to rearm at Horizon Station. Send them codes so they broadcast an allied signal: if they get blasted out of the void we could start another war.
War.
Despite its horrors, Torren would rather be in one right now then be in this backwater hunting pirates. The Karaigian Empire was at war with their nemesis, and his ship was hunting pirates. It was a waste of resources, especially given the Karaigian Fleet shattered over Tyror III. He should be fighting for the Empire. One last time. He was old and he knew it, Captain Torren had been assigned an easy job so he would have a nice, smooth retirement. After his deeds in the Third War, the Admiralty probably thought he deserved it, and risking a Hero like himself in the Fourth War wouldn't help morale is he got himself killed. Yet, all he wanted was to show his patriotism one last time.
"Hail Horizon Station, inform them of our arrival." he said as he pushed back his pride. He was here to hunt pirates: he would do his job.
VIGILANT'S MESS HALL
Arcus Kellion sat rather clumsily on the bar's stool, his powered armour cumbersome on the small leather stool. He grimaced inwardly each time he shifted his weight, the chair groaning and complaining, threatening to break underneath him. Surveying the mess hall, he raised and eyebrow as he took a drink from smuggled contraband, the product of their three month crusade against pirates. It was sharp, just to his liking. Despite the lack of glory in pirate hunting, and by that extent the lack of challenge, they could not say they were not compensated.
Before Arcus stood two billiard tables, looted from their last raid against a pirate base located in some backwater asteroid belt. Despite the uniformity and strict discipline of the Karaigian Marines, they knew how to make themselves at home. They sat and drank their "salvaged goods" that the pirates had been oh so intent on keeping, though no official report would ever say so. Taking another gulp, he savored the taste before turning to a marine aiming his cue.
"Harrick, take off the bloody helmet. You've sunk four balls in a row, there's no way you're that bloody good. I think most men would consider your helmet's targeting array an accessory to cheating."
At the accusation the poor marine who was down a pay check slammed his hand against the table. "All hell! Really? Fucking really? Harrick you cheating prick!"
"Aww, Cap'n, you could have waited 'till I was done to call me out!" joked Harrick as he leaned the cue against the table and waltzed on over to the bar. "One more ball and I would have had enough to pay the boys in engineering for their jukebox."
"Right, like Samuel would ever part with his beauty," said Arcus as he pour a glass for the cheating marine. "Here, this expired four years ago, consider it disciplinary action. Seen Wellend?"
Removing his helmet, Harrick took the glass and downed it in one loud gulp, before gagging. "Damn that's piss, I'd say I got off easy." he poured himself another glass. "Last I heard Wellend took two squads down to the firing range, seeing as he doesn't know what fun is."
"I better order him to learn it soon, else turn my men into younger versions of him."
"That'd suck." replied Harrick as he poured himself a third glass.
As the two men joked, the intercom rang for Arcus, which put an end to the Captain's relaxation time. Finishing his drink, he set the cup down and began walking up to the bridge. Looking around the mess hall he couldn't help but notice the fatigue seen in his men. Not from the pirate hunting, no the real challenge in that was in ship-to-ship combat, which the Squadron's ships had done without error. No, the fatigue was the result of boredom and an unrest that had settled the moment they formed this pirate task force. There's a war going on, and we're not in it he thought. Pirates were weeds that always came back, but now in a time of war, these weeds should be secondary priority. My men could be helping the war effort, not hunting curs.
He walked down the hallways and corridors of the ship, passing by the salutes of other marines, and the nods of engineers working on the deck's lights. The ship was, in his opinion, home. He enjoyed his posting, even if their mission was a waste of good marines, but the Vigilant was a sturdy ship, and the blood that was its crew was of honest men and women. He knew everyone by name, and everyone knew him.
As he traversed from the bottom of the ship to the top, Arcus came to the bridge, passing to two flanking marines through its blast door. He always liked the bridge; it was always busy and full of activity: it reminded him he was still on a warship, and there was still work to be done. He had lost track of how many times the mess hall and firing range had seemed more of a night on the town than being parts of his job.
"No response from Horizon Station yet Captain Torren." said an ensign Arcus couldn't see.
"Strange, try again, they are expecting us." replied Captain Torren.
Arcus looked out the main windows to see the combined Squadron: the small, yet deadly, Huerdaen vessel, and the massive PLSM destroyer, they were a weird group of vessels, but an effective one. HE wondered if they had billiards tables, and more importantly, would consider a tournament with a cash prize...
"Captain Kellion." greeted Captain Torren with a curt nod.
"Captain, what's the situation?" Arcus said as he snapped away from his billiard tournament.
"We'll be cutting the shore leave on Horizon Anchorage, we've received word of pirate activity in the system. Scans from a probe designate a singular ship, Ty'Ralyain make. It's been reaving in the sector for a while now, and with most of the ships out of sector..."
"No one's had the time to go after it? Damn, my men were looking forward to time on board Horizon, should I prepare a unit for boarding actions?"
"Do it. It'd be useful to take at least one Ty'Ralyain alive. Our data on their clan systems are flimsy at best: it'd be useful to know if they're pirates or privateers. Still, it'll take two hours to resupply our missile pods and munitions after that skirmish with the Flenser pirate band, so tell your men they get four hours shore leave."
"Yes sir." replied the Marine Captain.
"Kellion, what's your opinion on the company we're keeping?"
Arcus paused exhaling and recollecting all he had seen, done, and heard regarding the other national forces in their little squadron. The foreign powers had come far and wide, and the turn out had been far better than expected. When he first heard of this task force, he had assumed two or three powers, but they had turned up five.
"The Infiniti troops showed their worth helping us take that asteroid base. They're big, bigger than us, and fearsome. I can say I was impressed what these Setulanites could do. They were very skilled in the boarding action, and I must say they share the same robustness as our marines.
On the other hand the Nyte forces were radically different. Like an elastic band, luring the enemy in and they striking rapidly. Quick and bloody, though risky, given the nature of boarding actions. Still, the were interesting. The Shyurians are... strange to say the least. They're armour and weaponry is more akin to a mech's hardpoints than separate pieces of equipment. It makes them versatile to say the least."
He paused and though about the factions, each radically different from the last, and yet they made a coherent fighting force that worked surprisingly well given their small amount of time with each other. He'd even consider a few sturdy ally material, if their forces reflected their nations.
"What of the PLSM and Huerdaen forces?" asked Captain Torren."
"The PLSM's Guard don't impress me one bit, their armour couldn't top my pistol at one hundred meters, and their laser weapons are barely flashlights. Their suits aren't even pressurized, I don't know why they're in space." he shrugged. "They have courage, and will hold their own, but that does little when they lack the equipment to back it up. Still, what the Guard lacks the PLSM's marines make up for. They're tough, professional, and efficient: they're the ideal marine. The ones in the.... what was it... ah yes, Terminator armour were especially potent against the pirates. Though their armour was bulky, it was nigh impossible for pirates to damage, let alone scratch."
Arcus looked out the window at the Huerdaen ship cursing parallel to the Vigilant. "If you want to know about the Huerdaens, talk to Master Sergeant Wellend, he’ll talk your ear off."
"From the sound of it we found potent forces in this galaxy, I guess this Task Force wasn't pointless after all."
"No sir," replied Arcus, tapping his ear before turning back to the Captain. "Some idiot ripped up a billiard table with a cue, what a waste. I better go find a staple gun. This is why we can't have nice things in the Marine Corps."
VIGILANT'S FIRING RANGE
Master Sergeant Toric Wellend was a veteran of the Third Cytroxis-Karaigian War. This entitled him to the respect of all the marines who came after the war, or so he told his men. He was the embodiment of the Corps: tough as nails, efficient, and arrogant. Unlike most marines who thought themselves superior to just the land based armies, Wellend viewed the Karaigian Marine Corps as the "best goddamn outfit in the friggin’ universe". It was no surprise that he vindicated this view after seeing the other factions in action.
"Paros, your aim is worse than Jora's choice in women!" he barked at a young marine firing with utmost accuracy down the range. "Jora, reload faster or you're chambering each bullet by hand! And Thames, goddamn it your aim makes Paros look like a bloody STRESS trooper!"
He was red in the face as he verbally tortured to two squads in the range as they all fired with above average accuracy: which was below the average standards of Wellend. The past three months had caused him to run his men ragged in the firing ranges, and his random selection of the squads had been the subject of enough gambling to call the Vigilant a mobile casino. Three months of close exposure to other nation's marines had Wellend assert that Karaig was not only the best, but by far the best. The Huerdaens didn't help.
"Those little Huerdaens keep showing us up! They're bloody grunts, not marines. Are you going to let some army boys show us how to do our jobs? You'd better hope not or I'll shove a grenade so far up your ass your head will explode!"
Across the room, well away from the red giant of Wellend was a much more calm conversation. Sergeant Corric leaned against the weapons counter at the range idly listening to Wellend while talking to the Quartermaster and some of his grunts.
"Damn, thank god I'm in your squad Sarge, or Wellend would have my ass by now." said one of them.
"Pain in the ass he is, signing out every weapon and eating through so much ammunition that its a wonder we still have bullets... and targets." replied the Quartermaster as he sighted a scope to a sniper.
"I fucking love that man," replied Sergeant Corric. "He does my job for me so I can sit back, and relax in the mass hall."
"Is it true? Are the Hewdains showing us up?" replied the grunt.
"Huerdaens, Hu-er-daens, and no, not really. They're good, but they don't make us look like a lower class unit. I think Wellend just wanted an excuse to run the men hard. Or maybe he saw that the Huerdaen's brutal Red Eyes and wanted to scare them" said Corric as he yawned.
"Yeah, I heard from a guy in 3rd Platoon that those Red Eyes are practically feral." said the grunt as he slid his pistol to the Quartermaster.
"I like their rifles, robust and practically, similar to our own, only lighter." piped in the Quartermaster as he locked away the sniper. "I also like those shoulder cannons of theirs, they present options in battle."
"Indeed, wanna bet who Wellend will wail on next?" said the Sergeant. "Ten on Jora again."
"Ten on Thames."
