Mission 14 - Windup, Wavering Hearts - Part 1

  TA419 - 19/04.

  Major State’s Union Shipping Lane.

  The faint targeting reticle hazily layered on top of a Type-B in the distance. A mech sniper aimed via calculations and data input, aided by automatic programs. A good marksman’s hand rattled over the keyboards like a pianist. It was more of a mathematical exercise than other parts of piloting - but like most all sharpshooters, George Elton still preferred to pull the final trigger of the sequence manually.

  A bristling blue lightning bolt cleaved the night sky in two, appearing for a split second, faster than any other rifle, before smashing into the Type-B’s fleeing back. In an instant, the impact crumbled the armour like the mother of all car collisions: The heat melted what remained, thick globules of molten metal freezing to crystal-like icicles in the vacuum of space. The pilot was dead long before his beleaguered machine exploded from the resulting internal damage.

  Elton scoffed. He’d been sent on more missions than usual these last couple of days. Apparently, Something was wrong with the Curadh, so he was picking up the slack. He didn’t like it.

  On one hand, it meant he was proving his worth better than Donal Moncha, perhaps, but this calibre of grunt work was not befitting his skills. He turned the mech’s head to focus on what they’d just defended: some tiny merchant vessel. Where was the sense in that? TSU was the greatest force in history; it could afford to let the wild dogs claim a few caravans in Elton’s view.

  His sole amusement on these little trips was shooting the fleeing enemies. The enemy had some sort of order to retreat if faced with a Casnel like his own. The rouge unit usually let them go - Elton did not share this sentiment - he had, in six days, managed to shoot down ten fleeing mechs, a number of those Type-A insertion crafts and even cripple a small Remembrance warship. It was some sort of practice, he felt, better than nothing.

  He’d need it. Surely soon, very soon, he’d get another chance at felling The Scarlet Scourge. That thought almost made every pitiful mission like this worth the patience. Almost anyway.

  ****

  TA419 - 19/04,

  TSU Defence Platform 1, Assembly Metting Hall.

  "This can not go on unpunished! Our subsidiaries are quivering; now we hear some lone unit has destroyed Pearl Processing? What next, hmmm?" one of the many admirals, sat around the large conference table, borderline bellowed.

  Another shot him a glare, "Watch your tone. This is a meeting of senior officers, not the floor of parliament debate."

  The Grand Admiral swept his gaze over the congression of black-uniformed men and women, both here and projected on screens. With a sigh, he started wrapping things up, "There can be no denying our enemy planned comprehensively for their assault without any intention of giving us an inch. Nevertheless, we have managed to intersect a large number of their attacks, despite I might add, the overbearing bureaucracy of this council. We will stay the course."

  "Stay the course, Grand Admiral?" a harsh yet slithery voice asked from its place on a computer screen; Admiral Luitpold, "Is it not about time we stopped cowering and initiated a counterattack? This last week, you deployed the LongParish no less than three times without proper paperwork. Not that I blame you, of course, no no. Oversight is too stringent to deal with this crisis, I support your attempts to repel this threat. So why not an equally unorthodox next step?"

  Columbae's gaze ran cold. The ‘oversight’ holding him up, making him rely on the Curadh as a rouge unit and now deploying Elton’s ship in an emergency, came from Luipold. No one waylaid and vetoed his orders more than this traitor. So what was he now daring to ask?

  "What are you suggesting by that? Would you have me attack the Isle of Remembrance? A place we are forbidden to bombard and know has been all but abandoned?"

  "Their ships must refuel somewhere," another officer cut in.

  "Indeed, yet despite its strict surveillance, the Isles do not appear to be that 'somewhere'. It is most likely they had hidden refuelling points across the solar system well in advance, long before this war started, just like all their other preparation," Columbae said back sternly.

  Most around the table looked timid at that. In retrospect, the idea of diverting troops away from defence to storm the skeleton crew Remembrance had left behind at their home base seemed rather silly. Right now, most ships were busy; patrol fleets had had to double in size for their own safety, refineries needed permanent mech battalions, and supply lines required around-the-clock escorts. Where would these spare ships to assault an empty base come from?

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Columbae wasn't about to let it go that easily, "In truth, capture or destruction of their base would simply ironclad our enemy. They would no longer have anywhere to turn return to. Their every attack would become a willing kamikaze; the results would be catastrophic."

  The one person who seemed unfazed by this logic was Admiral Luitpold. With a calm air, he spoke, "True enough, but there is an alternative they could not ignore, one that would guarantee they stop attacking us and run into a trap. Attack the Abhailein mainland."

  An instant after Luitpold dared to say the unspoken, Columbae's fist struck the conference table with a force that belied his old age, "You would dare to even suggest we attack civilians, civilians currently under our protection and occupation, as a military tactic?!"

  "They attack our citizens on the daily. And dear Admiral, have destroyed two of our Defence Platforms," Luitpold shrugged.

  "And if doing so makes barbarian butchers out of us in turn, then they will have truly won this war. What would the public think? Will it be the Nation-States or perhaps the Moon that rallies against us to bring down such tyranny as that of those who in power would crush innocent cities? As long as I stand at the head of this military, no war crimes of such proportions shall be committed. This meeting is over."

  Columbae stood and turned his back. One of the younger vice-admirals tried to call him back, mentioning how there were still more items to discuss but the Grand Admiral paid it no heed. He almost turned back, hearing Luitpold mumble something about ‘the public doing what might tells them’, but just barely held his temper.

  ****

  Slouching into his office chair, Columbae smiled gratefully as his assistant laid a cup of coffee on the desk.

  "I heard things got heated, Sir?" the younger man said.

  The Admiral gulped down the glorious liquid before replying, "My position grows weaker by the day. I should be glad to have one at all with the losses we've had. Still, for the radicals to speak so brazenly. They are openly advocating an attack on the civilian populous now."

  "I suppose that might help?" the lieutenant replied, though his tone was one of bemused curiosity rather than belief in the idea.

  "Perhaps," the Admiral said simply, "Remembrance would likely come to their people's aid, tossing aside their intricate planning that has gotten them this far. They may have been able to live with seeing their planet occupied, but the chances they could sit idle as a genocide is carried out are certainly slim. But what then? This war and the last were spurred by the four-hundred-year-old grudge of planet Abhaile, a grudge for being discarded and neglected.

  Add onto that the massacre of innocent civilians? Our solar system would lose any remaining chance for peace it has left."

  "Yes, I can see how that would be undesirable," the assistant nodded, "Your call with Captain Synapse is ready. I'll forward it to this terminal.

  "Thank you, Livia, I appreciate it."

  The youth excited. Straightening in his chair, Columbae pressed the button to bring up the holographic display, "Captain, how goes it?"

  "Well enough, all told," Synapse smiled back over the somewhat blurry video connection.

  Columbae took a deep breath, trying to put the prior fiasco out of his mind, "Fred, we have a dark hour ahead of us."

  "The final phase?"

  "Quite. Intelligence got desperate, and a number of agents were apprehended and executed. The last of them made a final gambit; an operative transmitted us a file over a secure relay. It took time to get here, but he must have known its importance. Based on the gunshots heard on it, we believe he may well have broken into the Supreme Commander's office itself to get us the information we needed."

  Synapse whistled at that.

  "He was cut off in the process of delivering what he'd discovered but managed to give us our best lead so far. Like in the previous war, a cabal of Magi hiding with a reserve force. They intend to repeat Sky-Fall, except this time, instead of manipulating a meteor into the planet’s orbit, they will use it to destroy the entire home fleet. On the day, all other Rememberence ship's will be sent to engage us in an open battle; they will use themselves as the bait to keep us in position while a lump of rock and metal careers towards us."

  "That’s... Sun above that's a plan," the old captain murmured.

  "It is barely half the full plan, I'm afraid. From what the agent said this has all been very intentional. Taking out so many smaller installations was to erode the public’s trust and create more rumours than we could cover up. They plan to broadcast, somehow, images of all three Defence Platforms being destroyed, to inspire panic and perhaps an uprising. I think they're right. The home fleet alone would be a blow but not enough to cripple TSU as an organisation unless all over civilians began to rebel.

  The people of Abhaile are a given, but the Nation-Satellites, the Moon colonies - could they keep their trust in TSU if it can't even defend Bhiale? That's their end goal, how they intend to turn their overwhelming numerical disadvantage around."

  "Do we know where?"

  "Yes, the agent managed to list coordinates with his dying breath. I want the Curadh to go and do whatever you have to stop the fleet's destruction."

  "What about you, Sir? Now that we know, can't you move the fl-- Ah, but if you do that, the enemy will postpone or adjust their plan, won't they?"

  Columbae's expression was grave and tired, "Exactly that old friend. Just as they plan to use their entire fleet as bait, I must do the same. The home fleet must stand firm in order to give the allusion of ignorance, while you alone decide our faith by finding that reserve force. It's quite the ask on top of what you've already had to do these last few months and what extra tools I can send you are few. What say you?"