Random ten minute type up. N-JOY (Related to upcoming (whenever) TC.
LONG PATROL.
Black marsh system- 23/12/2297
HMS Farringdon –Guardian class corvette with escort
Captain Harrison checked the time on the digital readout above the viewscreen, it read twenty-one forty two. The bridge crew were relaxed and between the low-level lighting and the hum of the engines it was relaxing to say the least. He rolled his eyes and gave them a subtle rub masked with a gesture of feigned deep thought. “Status?” he asked openly, “Nothing on long-range sir” the XO replied, The XO was walking between the bridge crews stations purposefully and confidently overlooking operations of his subordinates. “Civilian traffic is steady, all sections report green lights and we’re running steady. We’re on schedule to complete patrol and begin the return trip at zero-one hundred.” The captain acknowledged with a nod.
Captain Harrison was a man in his late fifties; he’d started out as a junior officer, in logistical operations of all things. He was drafted at seventeen shortly after the outbreak of the colonial revolt and shown an aptitude for leadership. That proved to be of benefit as the war dragged on for as long as it did and Harrison rose steadily through the ranks to command level to end up here in command of the Farringdon. The Farringdon was a mid-level patrol corvette, a type 104 about three quarters of a kilometre long used mainly to patrol outlying core systems and escort larger class vessels like the Illustrious and the Oxford.
“Sir, convoy exiting subspace. Two ore carriers, one tanker and a personnel transport. Two klicks out” The XO gestured to the tactical overlay coming online in front of the viewscreen. The holograph showed 3D wireframe models of each craft in formation in relation to the Farringdon. “Order a flyby.” The XO now seated, pushed a button on the side of his ear-mic and relayed the request to the lead escort fighter. “Carry on here; I’ve got some business to attend to.” Harrison got up and made his way towards the exit, there was a bottle of fifty-eight single malt with is name on it, then some shut-eye. “Aye-Aye Sir.” The XO replied. He diligently tapped a few commands into his console and gave a few course corrections. Just to keep the crew on their toes.
A few moments earlier, just off the Farringdons portside, three Jaguar interceptors were finishing some late night discussions. . . “What do you mean? I had no idea she was your sister till I woke up and you were in the next room....” an audible chuckle was heard over the wideband from Baker two. “Weasel, wait until this patrol’s finished and I get you back to base..Wait a sec” there was a pause. The three fighters were holding formation in with the Farringdon and had been for three hours now, autopilot links and the latest in flight computer tech allowed basic manoeuvres like this to be taken care of by the fighters own logic. “Convoy ident guys.” Houdini addressed his wing, quite formally but there was no CAG on this sortie and the freedom was welcome. “Snowman, you stay with the tub, Weasel and I will go and say hello to the miners.” Baker two acknowledged by dropping back the throttle a touch and pulling in just a little closer to the four hundred thousand tonne “tub”. The rest of Baker wing pulled away slowly at first, then when clear of the warship they both pushed their twin Royce-Sumitomo engines to the max and shot off leaving a trail of ice crystal exhaust.
The shotglass, only a drizzle left was put down gruffly beside some old paperwork. Harrison tipped a refill nonchalantly into it and put the stopper back into the dusty bottle then set it down next to the single desk lamp. He was sitting at his desk; he’d bought that old desk with him to every ship he’d been assigned to since the rank of commander. He opened a drawer and took out a photo from under another wedge of papers. That photo was some twenty-six years old now. It showed a woman in her late twenties with a small child. The woman, almost certainly the mother was holding the child and was standing in a doorway with tears in her eyes. Harrison downed the glass in a single go and put his head in his hands and sobbed.
“This is Baker wing, sixteenth fighter wing Harewood station. Please identify and transmit flight path data.” Bakers one and two were now alongside the lead ore carrier and in escort formation. “Gimme a sec, I’m just diggin’ it out now” a gruff middle aged voice replied. “Damn navy” although the last statement wasn’t intended to be heard the miner had obviously forgot to turn the mic off in time. “Great, another dirt sucking colonial.” Baker three said over the ship to ship. “Can it Weasel, we don’t need to incite anything. It’s been a nice quiet uneventful patrol. We’ve only got to get these guys cleared to transit to Meadowview and we can get back to base for some well earned R&R, we’ve got a weeks leave don’t forget.” There had been open dissent from the colonies since the rebellion and a lot of people out in the sticks were still unhappy that the core systems had won. It wasn’t an easy victory, but it was an inevitable one. Houdini came from a military family and he’d heard about the Colonial tenacity and doggedness from his father. Everything from using hostages as shields, to guerrilla tactics and sabotage. The royalist forces were no saints but they’d always tried to fight a fair war. “Repeat, identify and transmit flight path data.” By now the convoy was nearing the Farringdon and about to pass alongside. “Sendin’ ya the data now...” The Jaguars centre MFD lit up as a few strings of text appeared dimly covering the cockpit in green light. “Acknowledged, proceed on course.” The two fighters pulled away and moved to take up escort with the Farringdon again. “Stupid miners-“ Weasel was cut off mid sentence when one of the ore freighters made a hard turn, hit full speed and ploughed into the side of the Corvette. “What the hell was that?!?!” Snowman chimed in, “You tell me!!” The other freighter turned away from the Farringdon “What in the name of saint peter was that?” The miner sounded as baffled as the pilots did.
Captain Harrison stormed onto the bridge “WHY IS MY SHIP UNDER ATTACK?” he bellowed, the crew were now wide awake and the bridge was in full alert condition, red light blanketed everything. The XO was organised and everyone appeared to be doing what they were supposed to. “One of the convoy rammed us Sir, damage reports coming in now.” The fury in Harrisons face was evident. He strode to the viewscreen and pointed at the convoy. “Those damned separatists, they knew we’d be here. They set this up and tried to take us down!!” The Captains cheeks were flushed and he was clearly losing all control. One of the bridge crew piped up from his console, “Sir, Baker wing requests orders on how to proceed, the convoy is scattering.” The XO looked to his superior officer and awaited a response. The bridge staff did likewise, there was a feeling of trepidation in the air.
