==edit; Title Changed.==
Greetings, guys.
As I'm a FreeSpace fan like all of you, I've decided to make my own story just for fun (not based on a campaign concept, though).
Edit: In FanFiction.com, the transport for Vasudan pilots isn't the Satis, but the Bes (Satis is too large).
The story might be a bit crap, because it's the first FreeSpace story I've published so far. I plan to bring part of my unfinished story in Fan Fiction.Net (link:
http://www.fanfiction.net/game/FreeSpace_2/)
You can find a few decent stories in there, although not all are finished, sadly
.
Anyway, here's Chapters I and IB; I've already done II, and am on my way to creating and completing III, but I'm giving you the responsibility to read them in FanFiction.net tomorrow when I publish it. Hope you enjoy it anyway
BTW comments and suggestions are encouraged.
==~~FREESPACE: HELL'S GRAVITY~~==
The story is based on a flyer during the Neo-Terran Front. It takes place twelve months prior to the beginning of FreeSpace 2, when the GTVA has just declared war upon the NTF and its mastermind, Admiral Aken H. Bosch. This is his autobiography. His name is Arthur J. Kessler, an ace who also served as an Air Force Colonel in the Second Shivan Incursion.
*1 New Ship: The Optimum-class transport is the largest transport in the GTVA arsenal. It is 900 meters long and is usually used to retrieve gigantic amounts of important minerals or to retrieve large, important debris from a historically-noted ship for the museums.
I. Old Wounds
Waking up, I stare at the grim clock, and it says; “0700 hours”. It is dawn at 5 o’clock. However, out here in the void of space there is neither night nor day, but merely a cold expanse of a massive vacuum that man will probably never find the edge of until apocalypse. Suddenly I hear the alarm. I can’t believe it! It’s been dead silent three hours ago and now chaos has to happen! One of my comrades communicates with me, forcing me to get up. “Come on, sir corporal – lest you bite the dust today!” I am quite irritated by this – why does a soldier have to spend three hours of rest, only to have a 70 decibel alarm horning over his head in the dead of dawn! I dress up, and rush to the briefing room. I am in a cruiser of some sort, Fenris-class. Our captain stands there, monitoring the board; in the huge board is some untidy chalk drawings copying a briefing screen – our briefing screen was down two weeks ago and the mechanic’s can fix it because they are too busy fixing the damaged main cannon; top priority. He makes a deep sigh, and announces;
“As you can see, gentlemen, Arianus station voiced a distress call in the past fifteen minutes. A Demon-class destroyer has executed an intersystem jump from Sirius to Regulus. It has reportedly launched multiple wings of bombers to siege the Arianus. We haven’t heard of them since. Now that we are here, I suggest the mode of Battlestations!”
We all rush to our positions, I to the gunner’s cockpit. However, in the midst of my running, I suddenly witness a blinding subspace tear; and before it lies a massive Shivan destroyer; the Demon. “Quickly, crewmen! Astonishment cannot be tolerated!” the captain beamed, with a sense of authority. He does not sound worried at all; we all know our little cruiser is just a toy compared to is hulking beast we are now engaging.
The Demon releases a swarm of Nephilims, and I get ready to fire. The first Nephilim closes by – no, lots of them – clustered in a red cloud of misery! But to my amazement, our own guns spread fire, immediately neutralizing the first squadron. The second wave is much larger, possibly comprising fifteen bombers. I open fire as they reach 800 meters – and the lead goes down in a blast. However, another launches a bomb straight at us. I experience a hard quaking – “radar destroyed!” announces our chief mechanic.
We can’t do this – there are nearly a hundred of them! A mob of thirty scuttle towards us, they all launch their bombs at the same time – this is what I fear – then I hear multiple blasts and screaming, and I now smell the scent of blood – and death – the last bomb speeds like a giant bullet towards us – “goodbye, comrade—“ was my copilot’s last line – BOOM! A green light flashes for a second, then it happened.
Simply a dream. I am in my cramped bedroom, shocked by the terror of this nightmare – a thought quickly dashes to me – what if someday that would happen to me? A new war is coming, and the Neo-Terran Front is stabilizing. My uncle Jonathan was killed trying to defend the Galatea – and he wasn’t killed by the Lucifer’s glorious flux cannon, but by the humble lasers of a Basilisk back in the Great War. Father still visits his nearby grave up to now.
My second cousin, on the other hand, served in the 66th Black Knights. He became 1st Lieutenant, in fact. He got sixteen kills – which was rather high among his colleagues; yet he was vaporized in a few seconds by the Hades’ torpedoes – and was never found, or even sought, again.
And now, another war is starting. Another war! How can this be?? I might die soon, or be caught and arrested for life, I don’t know. I’m not sure. How can I predict? I’m nineteen, freshly old. I have to fend for myself now – I’m a man, not a child.
I think about war’s wounds so much I forget that I will have to join the military today. This is my first time to serve in the armed forces.
When I was younger, I have showed great enthusiasm to modeling GTA, PVE, and even Shivan vessels. I, in fact, joined a competition and quickly won it; a perfect, refined model of the SD Eva! Second place was a patriotic Vasudan, who modeled the PVD Hope. A perfect one, I should say, in fact I don’t know how mine was better; 1:5500 scale, his was 1:2000 scale; much bigger than mine; the judges should be able to rank him up since seeing a larger one would make it easier to spot the good details.
Now that I am joining the armed forces, instead of fearing death, I look up to it; my dreams are finally opening!
IB. Departure from Home
As I finish my training sessions in the Terran Fighter Academy, I quickly ride my aerocar towards the dock for transportation. It was once for private travel, but was commandeered by the military two years ago. I salute to all uniformed gentlemen, even If I don’t actually know them, and in the first place, I’m not a soldier at all. But I know for certain that these guys are military men, strict and bold, willing to die for the GTVA. I analyze myself; A high school graduate, who never held a gun before. Some guys here are brutally scarred; some even lost their eyes and limbs during the Great War.
I meet my comrades. I feel shy at first, but am later engaged as they converse familiar discussions I’ve heard with and debated about when I was younger. The transports are all arranged by row; one section, and I can see a line of Satis vessels, and another filled with Elysiums for Terrans. We take an Elysium, the GTT Bohr. We hear the radio announce; “We will depart Sol in one hundred minutes. Take everything with you, and finish everything you need, before we go to the front.” We head for a nearby canteen and order some food.
Out here, nowadays, you can produce a good meal in eight seconds; before it took you ten minutes! I get my order, and spend my money. Neatly crafted onto its cold steel is the image of Earth and the face of Emperor Khonsu II. I grab five coins, and ask; “how much is one hotdog sandwich?” “Four Sols and five Vasudas, sir”. I am holding five Sols, which I give to the cashier, and five Vasudas are returned in change. Nowadays, money is named after notable planets, stars, systems, or nebulae.
“Hey, dude, what’s up with that primitive hotdog?” says one American-looking fellow. “What’s your name?” I politely ask. “Forget the manner, save it for our hot-headed officers. My name’s Philip, yours?” “Arthur Kessler. Nice to meet you, Philip,” we both shake hands, a formal greeting for a mainstream American.
We spend fourty-five minutes discussing our ideas, our feelings, and introducing ourselves. By the time we leave the table, I know almost by heart five of my comrades; Philip Jackson, American; Pierre Lieunark, French; William Hollie, British; Ernest Poe, British-American, and Gravim Stavisky, Russian. To my amusement, we’re all Westerners; nowadays a mixture of many races has been predominant, unlike before, the smallest tribes on Earth would even wage war with each other! One fellow is seated at the other table; he seems to have a tone of authority. Before we walk away, he comes and greets us; “Lieutenant Josef Leonov, comrades!” we all greet him professionally, but I kind of change the situation, and ask him; where are you from, sir? “I was born in Russia, however I am half-Dutch”, he says, with a small chuckle.
Leonov looks like an old war veteran, his face heavily scarred. I ask him, “are you our squadron leader, sir?” “Not actually – I am not a squadron leader, I serve on a Leviathan-class cruiser, second-in-command to Captain Frank Rudolph,”
Another officer-looking lad comes towards us; “Lieutenant Kelvin Georges, at your service, mates,” At this point this fellow looks young and inexperienced. We shake hands with him. However, as he moves toward me, he looks at me in the eye; “What is your name?” How can this be, not addressing me any title?! The others were addressed their ranks and were all welcomed to the squad. I answer; “Private Arthur R. Kessler,”. “You look familiar, Private. Have you ever signed for the Armistice?” “No, sir.” He asks me again, curiously; “where were you born, private?” “In space, sir. I was raised for the first 2 years in Enif Station.” Lieutenant Georges gives a small laugh, then backs away. The cold fluid of mystery flows down my spine. Why was he so curious about me? Did he meet me before, did he see me?
“Suit up, my dear gentlemen. We’ll meet at the GTT Bohr. By the way, welcome to the 64th Raptors.” He salutes at us, and we salute back as he strides away.
I hear an announce; “all members of the 53rd Hammerheads, 64th Raptors, 242nd Suicide Kings, and 134th Barracudas, please proceed to your respected transports.”
I look back, and see my comrades running already ten meters ahead of me. “Better catch up, lad, or you remain on the soil!” jokes Hollie. At this point I feel quite irritated; Is this how they treat newcomers? I ask myself, while attempting to catch up, all sweaty.
I am surprised that my comrades aren’t inside yet. Two enormous sentry walkers stand on either side of the Bohr’s entrance. “Password?” I hear one say with quite an artificial voice. “I told you, it’s Nidhogg!” yells Poe. Does this machine have some defect?
The entrance suddenly opens, and a seemingly friendly man stands there. “Sorry, gents. I forgot to repair these walkers. You’ve been fooled – it’s April!” The lad smiles, Poe grumbles, and we all come in. I show some respect, and ask the person; “I thought jokes aren’t permitted in the army?” I asked with a sense of curiosity. “Oh, no, not when you’re about to leave Sol, mate!” he says, loudly. I catch up with my comrades.
As I enter the Bohr, I realize that it is quite large for us six (including Lt. Georges). An Elysium has a crew of forty including the pilots, we’re only twelve; this gives us quite some space. I know that an Elysium has four decks, including the pilots’, through modeling. I’m surprised that there are only three. I don’t dare to ask, anyway; this is done probably because we’re the only ones occupying it.
The navigator announces that we are to leave in ten minutes. We spend the ten minutes talking about space; we don’t want to talk about the horrors of the Great War, neither do we discuss the advance of the NTF. We are about to leaves Sol, our very homeland, and enter the battlefield; this may be the last time we meet together!
As the Bohr ascends to the depths of space, we put on our seatbelts, and the gravity fabricators power up. “We will enter subspace at Taurin. ETA to Taurin is thirty minutes,” the radio announces.
Transports move extremely quickly in Sol, possibly due to the magnetic fields that nearby magnoplasms generate. These boost the speed of any ship. Creating a magnoplasm is hard work, and usually these machines are found near the capital planet of a race.
We pass a Satis transport, and a lumbering Triton carrying deuterium. Then we pass a great, majestic Deimos-class corvette, then a bulky Leviathan, a squad of Ares fighters, a group of Faustus vessels…it was simply eye-candy! Seeing Beta Aquilae in a very busy state, with unscathed ships moving here and there, trying to study the system; the battle-damaged, larger ships like the GVD Psamtik and the GTD Carthage are usually found in GTVA battlefronts such as Epsilon Pegasi or Capella. Oh, and I see a massive debris chunk of the Hades as it is being retrieved by an enormous Optimum-class transport*1.
“We are nearing the node. ETA is seven minutes. Suit up, pilots!” says the pilot of the transport. I look at the back window and see the GTT Nexor (its nameplate) catching up with us like the ancient race cars. I presume the pilots of the 53rd Hammerheads, 242nd Suicide Kings, and the 134th Barracudas. What a pity their vessel is pretty cramped up, unlike ours, spacious and graceful. Theirs appears to be battle-damaged; the Nexor probably sustained fighter fire when attempting to dock a capital ship. A rusty metal bag of war veterans, I suppose.
“Prepare, pilots. We are now entering the Vega jump node. ETA to node is 10 seconds…9…8…7…” cold fear struck my spine down; this is the first time I’m actually entering subspace in nineteen years! “6…5…4…3…2…1…Helm, engage subspace drive!”
Our transport quakes heavily as the GTT Bohr attempts to match the dimensions of subspace….and suddenly I notice a blinding vortex in front of me…subspace!
We enter subspace. It looks like an eerie tunnel of oblivion, but I know that if this did not exist, man could never approach the depths of the universe, nor find any other species. The first extraterrestrial encounter would be the Lucifer bringing down Earth…which I hoped never happened.
“ETA to Vega is three minutes. You are not allowed to exit the vicinity of your room. This may lead to serious conflict and may cause cardiac arrest, extremely high fever, or several mysterious illnesses that may be extremely hard to cure as a result of subspace contact. Please remain, pilots.”
At first I think the pilot is quite worried of subspace. But subspace is inarguably dangerous; I should agree with his claims. There have been tons of subspace accidents since its discovery, and I do not want to mingle with them.
Beside me is Philip, shivering like a child. “You okay, mate?” I ask. “Yeah, pretty much. This blinding tunnel is freaking me out a bit, though.” I realize that I’m actually the bravest of my comrades; even Lieutenant Georges shows a certain symptom of nervousness as he grabs his electronic dictionary; why would one get a dictionary right here in subspace? I reckon he did this to move away his mind from the vast tunnel.
“We are now approaching Vega in ten…nine…eight…seven…”
At this moment the transport is beginning to quiver…
“six…five…four…three…two…one…”
The blinding end of subspace is merely five meters away.
The next thing I see, again, is the vastness of the cosmos; the Vega star is in front of us, and I’m almost blinded.
“Sheesh…do we have to suffer from that sun’s halo?” complained Philip.
“Quiet, Philip. The authorities don’t like complaints. I think we’d better keep quiet this moment.” Philip hesitated for one and a half seconds, but nodded anyways.
Luckily, the Bohr moved out of the sun’s sight.
“We are now nearing Nemea Station. Prepare to pack up, gentlemen. Admiral Petrarch will be pleased to see you.”
A thought dashed to my mind; Admiral Petrarch? Well-known for destroying twenty capital ships on some Hecate destroyer? I read about his entire account in history books. He was once a fighter during the Great War and acclaimed fifty kills – that’s a lot. He is also responsible for bringing down the SD Eva’s guns single-handedly in his Medusa bomber.
“Proceeding to dock to Nemea Station. We are now pointing towards the installation,” says the Bohr’s chief pilot.
“What is your status, Bohr?” asks a female communications officer from the Nemea.
“We have sustained no damage and engines are at full power and fully repaired,” our pilot answers back.
“What is your status, Nexor?” the officer asks again.
“We have sustained no damage. Status is similar to that of the Bohr,” answers the Nexor.
“We are now docking with Nemea. Kindly pack up and the docking entrance is now open.”
I am the first to stand up, ready with my packaging, of my mates; we spent merely around 40 minutes. I’m barely numb but Philip is. He seems like a couch potato to me; I don’t think he’ll last long knowing how brutal Neo-Terran troops fight. “Come on, lazy boy, unless you wanna get knocked off by some Shivan ass!” jokes Poe. He seems to have some relationship with Philip; I wouldn’t want to say that to someone I don’t know by heart yet.
As we enter the Nemea, we are led to the transporting chamber. Thirty horizontal elevators hang before us, crammed near each other and forming some complicated translucent matrix. ”OK, now where the hell do we go?” I think. All of these are occupied with both Terran and Vasudan personnel, some even with unarmed Walkers. Each is guarded by two sentry walkers, but smaller than the ones I saw at the entrance of the Bohr; they seem only human-sized.
“Password?” they ask.
“Roswell”, says Lieunark.
The door opens; however, it seems this elevator pathway has been crowded with cargo boxes. How are we supposed to get past this? Instead, we end up walking over them. I can see the passengers from the GTT Nexor in the nearby elevator. I’m surprised to see that aside from the people themselves, their pathway is clear. But as soon as they are all entered in, it’s crammed like hell. I estimate that thirty people are in it, yet we’re only six. My guess had been correct; they WERE experienced pilots; probably fought the pirate lord Memblis in the early 2360’s. But the front ones are quite young like us; I think they’re the 53rd Hammerheads based on the shark logo imprinted on their uniforms.
Our own and their tunnels connect at a larger one which leads to some kind of entrance. Some officer is standing to await us, and he lines us up according to squadron; we’re thirty-six people. We walk to the main hall; it’s enormous. We are arranged in a set of chairs at each side, and me and my fellow pilots sit in the center row. We wait for five minutes, and Admiral Petrarch himself strides to announce;
“Good afternoon, my dear pilots. I have some imperative news for you. We all know that the GTVA Assembly has just declared war on the Neo-Terran Front.”
“The mastermind of the NTF, Admiral Aken Bosch, has taken notice of the war. Intelligence has tracked that his forces are rapidly increasing with the construction of hundreds of new warships, fighters, and bombers and thousands of ground troops, tanks, and assault walkers are being constructed. As Admiral Bosch’s power increases, he may strive to invade nearby planets and systems, thereby increasing the strength, number, and resources of his Front.”
As I hear his speech, I feel a cold sensation conquering my body; fear has beholden me. I’m afraid to die like any normal person, but I know that I will die for a good cause. Petrarch continues his speech:
“The Neo-Terran Front now completely controls the following systems; Sirius, Alpha Centauri, Epsilon Pegasi, and intelligence claims Bosch might take over Deneb. The government of Regulus has turned traitor and has defected the NTF. Fortunately, most of Regulus’ population has regretted this act.”
“As you all know, I am in charge of the 3rd Fleet of Capella. I am the captain of a well-recognized destroyer designated the GTD Aquitaine. But once I was a humble pilot during the Great War.
I am now telling you this so that you may be empowered to face your fears.”
I can feel my back stretch forward as I know I’m going to like this story.
“When my closest comrade, Voss, had died in the Great War, I felt a tremendous amount of distress. He was one of the very few who could relate with me and understand my opinion. His loss terribly affected my life. My other comrades mourned him, but I know and I am sure that I am the one who was the most inflicted one. No one to comfort me in times of fear, trial, or even death? Our squadron leader himself was strict and had no sense of feeling for us. But this Voss had.
He had just shot down his sixth when a plague of Dragons gunned him down like nothing. I myself saw his death. After he was destroyed, the Dragons turned to me and gunned me down like hell. Luckily, I survived but severely injured – only to see my closest friend dead.
However, I did not let my career fail. I had two choices; leave and desert to blot out my honor, or fight to the death for the sake of my loved ones. I chose the second. A warrior fights to the end with all his life and liberty.
I may sound mad to you, but for me, this is freedom. At the end of the war, I got a surprising thirty kills – and I gained twelve more when I fought the Hammer of Light.
This is Admiral Petrarch. Meet me at the GTD Aquitaine at 1500 hours. Admiral Petrarch out.”
He strides away, and we are all left motionless.
