Iron_Imperator: Deborah Raye Gossler
You thought you were slick huh? I see right through you.
Good story. Can't wait for more.
Gamestrider09: I approve of your story. Proceed.)
nacl: Faust's characterization here is good- I love how she makes her own deal with the devil, so to speak, by allying herself with mercenaries, and how... cold she is, for lack of a better term.
(also the reference to Goethe I did spot is that Faust's wife is named after both Wagner and Gretchen. Do I get an imaginary cookie? )
Right, um…this shall be marking my imprint on the world.
Loreena Morgenthau Faust, General, Cascadian Marine Guard. I am not one for light of day, but this the historians shall chronicle and make a tale of caution or aspiration.
Born July 16th, AC 377 in Denali, relished and savored its tall peaks of snow. I admit I am not much of an artist in words, and yet this will be given flair by the dramatics. [small chuckle and subtle smirk formed]
You shall pardon my failing in that, I am more an absorber than a creator. Maybe more a destroyer even. I clearly have the Books of Fire to memory and the histories of Old America – dust take upon Her, but never have I ever put anything outside of official documents to the quill.
Family is a throng of hard workers; they coordinated people on tour of pleasure like Peripher people, some of whom had camp at Grimwood. Father was a Dust chaplain in the National Guard – all those sermons boosting morale and pumping up our blue-green boys were worth it.
Got a sister who was a hard drinker, a party lady – that kind of cliché. Had withdrawal when the Feds raised taxes, My mouth and the words spat out of it, the only weapons I could get, grinded the most gears out of her so she could quit that spattering. Had to shill out a lot just for care when she had a joyride to celebrate sober, though – H-34 as I recall. Fire-cursed Kennedys and their bullshit taxes and their bullshit programs left to dust…
Was that an expletive? Carry on, that might get the bleep.
Back to myself: As my cells grew up, so did my fascination for general transport; had the privilege of the Air Academy out there in Mongol land – all those airships and fighters.
You know, one of the few things we Cascadians and Feds share in common are laws and Gordost- and Theo Timby-class cruisers. Few of my family did leave Cascadia – oh, Greta? I'm on a recording here.
There'll be another time…for us and…critical things.
/
The Cascadian White Fleet, you're curious on my views about. Of course, the centerpiece of it is none other than Cascadian Diplomatic Vessel (CDV) Roosevelt.
I had command of few airships before I got to this point…had some exercises with the Vertical Navy on the Feds' side. But the Teddy? I only worked escort guard on her, MEG – Embassy Guard. Just a quick reminder, we don't just deal with guarding, we do state depts and get packages and people around in full piece. Sumeria, though…that was quite the militias we traded lead with, I was there when the Foreign Aid Edict happened after.
It's in the blood to climb any clime and place.
Sometimes, we couldn't restrain ourselves with the oft boring tasks we get on; we might trade cards or flash with delegation, hell, we had a mock fistfight or two with our Fed counterparts. Then one day, Admiral Bonin found me moping near the bridge. "Little engineer spat," he said; next thing we knew, we had a nice chat on mess about airships – "Three Hours at the Condor," you can name it that.
I believe in principle that the mouth should be soft and the barrel thick with smoke. Just as the Forefathers intended.
/
The wife just invited me down.
If any juniors are listening, nothing raunchy is going on – that's something for later.
I'm a busy woman, me and Greta are kind of opposites, even in the same military, you can see the cracks clear as an Aitor day.
I drill heads into their jars while she spreads the wings of new birdies – and I'm supposed to use the name of a bird of prey.
Greta wants to push the limits and reach for the skies, make them get that it's the soul put in the metal birds that matters, not the contraptions themselves. I'm meanwhile stuck with making greenhorns embrace the earth they came from, ground them a whole lot.
Not that it's that extreme. Just a harsh refresh that our drive can be a wedge in the pipes that link us…it is what it is, and any cost I have to entertain, I can pay.
You hope against hope itself it's worth us.
/
The Federation. Oh, if you expect me to roll my tongue off and gurgle out "Pacific-Middle Eastern-European Federation," you're Dust-damned delusional. They started out in and always would be entrenched in the Pacific freaking Rim.
We didn't exactly see gun to gun or eye to eye with the Federation's politics, but very mild points for them for making us their prodigal partner – an equal even.
I think we got called the Prodigal Leaf of the Pacific. A good ring to it if there ever is one.
Their fighting forces, I hand over great credit to for keeping it at the top of the food chain. In any jungle – political or literal – you have to cut your teeth and fangs to stay relevant, to make sure you're anything but a carcass. Make the most of your existence so you can go out to the Dust on your terms.
Any proud jarhead of Cascadia lucky enough to be part of joint exercises or even wars – I can related with stress – they'll be like clay groomed for the museum. When they're into a corner, they like to throw bodies into a problem or shelter them in place until the bombs drop and only rubble remains to oppose them.
My counterpart – in terms of training – was some guy named Thorold Stratfon. Last heard he was being inducted to the reserves. Shame, he was good while he clashed with me. My soldiers when we clashed with him were hardened guys – his did their all, but they were absolutely kicked off the board. Of course, it was clear which one of our men spent the most time in the Dustlands.
The Fedskeps (anti-Federal skeptic) won't give an iota of damn, but when I spoke with him, the last kind of death he's seeking is artillery from one of his own. Wouldn't be really dignified, he said.
/
Morality.
Yes, that word.
Seven little characters that bind our every action, an abstraction which prevents us from restarting the Calamity many times over.
To the point: I was asked if the bullseye justifies the trigger – you know, ends and means.
My utter favorite topic.
My forte is loyalty, not that. I shall pick a thousand actions that create notoriety for me before I choose gold, glory, or the spotlight. Any semblance of showing off or arrogance are entirely coincidental with this earned pride.
Watch their six? I'll always have it.
I could still remember, however, my own looks of regret when I realized what I and the Federation wrought on Oceania. What the Cabal tried…it was monstrous and they had to be erased, but as if skirting it was any better…
So many good men and women under both their and my own command, all that capability and life…snuffed out because they were on the side of death.
Sounds of engine and wheel can be heard in the background
I'm not some jet black nihilist who holds every Federal subject or mercenary evil, though – I'm not yet that type of zealot – I still hold that their institutions are of rot, that theirs are misguided beliefs that mark them for a target.
One contract. One war. One fight. A full life is earned from the completion of one alone. And still, some choose that cursed life. So do some politicians, who think endless growth and expansion is the only way.
They have to be stopped.
I won't deny we were bloody in our beginnings, but what the hell has the Federation done when compared to Cascadia really? The words "Unification War" ring a bell to you? Two? 332 even?
No two nations are comparable, holding the same judgement is but an exercise in benign futility.
We kept our streets clean. Tended to our forests. Had 500 years of prosperous nature. Our Dustlands dealings? Nothing but keeping the peace in our own backyard, those ever-uncivilized and disunified war herders. I'll take a thousand Major Londons before a million Khans.
And their stupid, stupid scheme of "federalization…" load of shit that rewrites who people are. That is the real goal. Everything else is pork and gravy.
Have they learned nothing that forcing people to follow their line of thought has never worked? That passive threats are still threats? If they can't get their way with people, either simply wipe them or leave them the hell alone.
I killed thousands, possibly millions. I brought ruin to homes and fields, razed cultures and nature to the ground. And for that…I must answer, make justice through skyfall.
And now, I must make my ground solid.
Even if the government, the press, my very own perhaps stand against me, mine shall be a position of a tree besides truth's streams whose hill shall declare: "Move aside or else."
Cascadia is not an entity, it is an idea. That idea motivates loyalty more to it than any party that lays claim to its material existence. Before Cascadia, there was the United States – dust take upon Her – and before them…there was us.
And before us? Dust itself.
If Cascadia's situation demands it, I would slaughter a hundred of my people to save millions more.
If a nation betrays itself, or one holds a sword to the other, complete annihilation of the aggressor.
If it means sanitizing the Dustlands, every man, woman, and child in there should it guarantee the safety of the same people in my country…so be it.
This is me. I would need – not want, need – to do them should the time call for it. Loyalty is the manifestation of one's convictions, and those with none are blind. I am committed. I am steadfast.
Were the government a complete puppet of the Federation in the future, I would answer not to them, but to the hanging airquote of "Cascadia" itself.
My mind has been made up. Wings for her – United Cascadia. That is me…the real me.
/
You still want to talk morality, do you? Fine.
A little story when I was just a Colonel…back when I was on routine peace enforcement deployments all those times. I can count well beyond both fingers how many times I got deployed.
There was this one mercenary – "bandit" is a moniker more befitting of scum like him. A long time ago in Indochina, I was on guard duty for a government convoy. We had local tribes to keep watch on, me and my jarheads. But one day, a major raid occurred that left that convoy in ruins – we had the staff replaced in due time – so after months of hunting one man, we finally found the bandit responsible.
We caught him. No sign of backstabbing, no way or mean. I ordered fists be upon him, kept him awake a whole night, he hummed about the Round Table the whole time – rubbed me blind. That was when I shoved a rifle to his mouth. He was laughing, swearing that he was on drugs the whole time – we did find some in his system – but after what he did…we thought it was enough that we left him to rot.
There I was, shrouded in the dark being some avenging angel of the Mother, striking a deal between life and death. I thought the measure was enough…that I showed mercy's cruel side already…then a week or so later, he came back, torched the whole forest – we heard he got recovered and that he was that stubborn and durable – I ain't the only one acquainted with the jungle after all, and I forgot that.
He was that close to burning a whole village to the ground…and it took C-8s flying overhead to barely stop him. He got subdued again, I then cracked his cranium open with a tree branch.
Moral? The bad guy got his way…because I picked a half measure, didn't commit completely.
No longer will my path be incomplete. No longer would the bridge of dust be left to smolder.
No more mistakes.
No. More. Half measures.
Archive data in the inheritance of the Faust family; also publicly recorded
/
432/04/17 (April 17th, AC 432)
1335 Far Eastern Federal Time
Near New Mariinsk Airport, Southeastern Magadan | Core Territory of the Pacific Federation
-On the way to New Mariinsk sortie-
Subject: K-9A | Deborah Gossller
The sound of metal colliding against metal could be heard. Metal bled, and sparks flew from both pavement and car.
Damn it, what the hell? I had been too focused on these old interviews, I got a bit unrestrained in my wheels.
The drive was supposedly boring, and I was in kind of a hurry-relax moment.
You gotta believe this girl, man. It's in the spring and the cool sun is good. Day had been slow for everybody else, so I felt I had to take it easy.
Word from the phone said Charlie – Charlene Hustle aka Joan Cob-I'm sorry, Colt – had been eating up on burgers and is goin to the ladies' relief. Bravo was also on the damn TV, which I heard from Eye-Tee had oddly been showing a whole lot more from that war – the Cascadian Conflict.
The War in Cascadia. Yeah, right. Week since our activation had been a whole bunch of "war contained my ass" and "a few riots shit in my mouth."
And then there's me, Debbie Gossller, hightailing it in her little pad while at the wheel. This was what the PC showed me when I woke up late-ish to base:
Approved for use by the Ministry of Defense
SECURE_CONNECTION_
Software Revision 48.a.(seriously, 48 revisions?)
Confidential Information
/RESERVIST PORTAL\\\ (user and password, go away)
Inbox
wpo_jalison .
Subject: A Change In Roster?
mp .
Subject: Speeding Ticket J-16814 (Debra's pro-tip: "What do I do?" "I drive…and rack up tickets")
noreply .
Subject: Notice In Training Schedule
wpo_jalison .
Subject: Re: A Change In Roster?
mp .
Subject: [LATE] Speeding Ticket J-16814 (yeah, yeah, I forgot, fuck my short-term mems)
wpo_jalison .
Subject: Re: Re: A Change In Roster?
wpo_jalison .
Subject: Re: Re: Re: A Change In Roster? (haven't really gotten to know the others, we ain't some tight-knit PMC)
notificationsystem-203934 .
Subject: DEPLOYMENT ORDER [DO NOT IGNORE]
mp .
Subject: Speeding Ticket J-19234 (finally a new one!)
From notificationsystem-203934 .
Subject: DEPLOYMENT ORDER [DO NOT IGNORE]
[ALCON]
PACFED Emergency Deployment Order Effective IMMEDIATELY
Reservist Deployment Criteria has been met pursuant to PACFED Defense Agreement Protocol 3-9, Article 1.
Crystal Kingdom assesses immediate confrontation threatening Core Federation territory in your area.
Additional strategic resources have been allocated. Readiness levels are to be immediately raised to highest levels.
Report to your CO and duty positions and follow all orders as given by HIGHCOMM and PK callsigns.
PACFED DEFCON stands at DEFCON 2.
...
...
...
CONFIRMED VIEWING BY PERSONNEL
SENDING READINESS STATUS...
Sending Encrypted Data...
_User Credentials_
Name: Deborah Raye Gossller
DOB: 397/11/12
SID:FID_RE_###############
Unit K-9
Rank: Captain
Reservist Air Wing
Readiness Date: AC432_4_7
1235 HRS
...
...
...
DATA RECEIVED
ASSIGNMENT RECEIVED
Deployment Location FRONTLINE-59
/
I like to know how everything works, you know. When the time comes for roost, I push for every possible answer for every possible avenue.
Got called the Trivia Lady sometimes. Banter and stuff are on my mind. Charlie/Joan lounging in boredom mumbling about her pairing. She always got teased for her job, some people joking she looks like a corn farmer.
A corncob. Can you believe it?
She's closer to me than the others, being the only other lady in the unit. Despite appearances, we're the more professional of the bunch and I try to disrupt the least with my on-base stunts. Reservists get those privileges among the long list that regs don't get to experience.
They're the chockos as them Oceanians like to put it. Especially that one – what's his name – Eames "Vita" Brightstone.
He's the sharp and bitter type of Aussie – Oceanian Defense Forces, enlisted because of the carnage the war brought to him, watched young kids get slaughtered or suffer. Told me he saw 'em like figurative sons and daughters of his, often talks smack about them Cascadians.
Can't say I blame him. I can relate in some way.
"Hell, Cobb, go bite on some of them corn chips, they serve a wide pair of"
"Wide…as much as your asshole's width? Go away."
I chuckled when I heard that. Not even the most sociable and I had some giggles.
I kept on driving into a tunnel when I heard sirens blaring at me. Magadane blue-whites. The chase is on.
Our engines kept on revving and screaming, it was a close pace between us. I kept my glasses and ear pods on to distract me from the stress. Next thing I knew…roadblocks.
No, those weren't for me, those were for the more public routes.
And they had a ramp for giving good cover. Cliché.
I ramped up the engine and had the ramp grow closer to me. The barrel's bottom would have her rolling fun.
I slipped past an RV, drifted, and made air time like some movie star.
The car felt light like one of those Fed-funded space shuttles in the simulators…I felt like dust in the wind, and if I had taken a half nitrous, it wouldn't have made the cut. My car would be totaled and my day wrecked for no reason.
Just as I touched the ground, events of previous days dawned on me a bit.
The courtroom was packed with just enough attendants to fill a bus. It was the plain wood arrangement, and all the seats were ready or had handles absent of spots.
In the middle was one Deborah Gossller – AKA the Alpha position of Division K-9, recently charged with grazing a hangar section while doing a split-S on her car.
"Witness has been summoned for testimony…are the attendants ready?"
The sound of gavel bangs were answer enough for that request. The law was sacred for even the most mundane of slights; hurt on any form was always going to be dealt with, and the right pressure applied for them.
It was a tense silence, and then chatter happened – cross-examination of the woman under trial.
"…then she smashed through a fence, though took care not to even physically damage anyone, and then…she launched her nitrous and slalomed across multiple vehicles."
"What happened after?"
"She creamed her car through flipping, she said she enjoyed it. After her little stunt-slash-accident, she proceeded to turn up her door with a tire iron. Turned herself in, next thing we knew."
The next person to stand stood: The Khan of one of the most vital Core States of the Pacific Federation, but with an active double life as a fighter, a soldier, and a leader…also a teacher.
He was tall and well-built, his slightly tanned skin rubbing off of the wooden sections. His futuristically fabricated suit was befitting of a man of his station. He had slight illusory hair on his face – it had to be artificial, no pilot in their sane mind would block the substance of flight for the sake of stylized posing.
It was a full measure the military did to avert inefficiency. And the woman who would later be known as Driver was an absolute standout in the Academy; top marks, surmountable most flight hours, she even qualified for multiple airframes such as the brand-new VX-23.
She even volunteered for live combat for a limited time, owing to giving a unique impression to the Khan himself. It was unusual for a national leader to give attention to the little people, but a person on regular boots who made the headlines could hardly be questioned with. This did not come on a whim; Adriana Meyer, who would go on to be the leader of the Sicario Mercenary Corps Frontline Squadron "Gunsel," was pivotal to the young Driver's acumen and potential.
"If I may testify…" the Khan's guttural was noticeable on its unique weariness. "I have known and monitored her for longer than anyone in this room ever has."
"Specify the timeline."
"AC 413 to 415 was around the time she began training and drilling herself. The closest transports she could get; not every person is a natural, I have had my share of politicians' sons flunking and disappearing."
"How did she impress you, Khan?"
"One day…she performed and executed a somewhat flawed form of a Cobra maneuver…and that was when I saw brimming, burning-like-cordium potential."
"What are your thoughts and how have they evolved over time?"
"Hmm…I figured her mental getup was like an untapped mine of gold. Cordium, even – you can see the fire in her."
"Did you maintain the same mentality when you learned she became part of Reserve Division K instead of a prestigious position like Federation Peacekeeper Squadron Zelenyy?"
"Too early for her it would have been, and she is not yet steeled for such responsibility, she needs bending! But…in my honest tongue…it was the best road she could have driven on. She strapped her heels and hands into the jockey pit…and I even considered breaking the natural process by inviting her into my unit. That I have confessed…Deborah."
Debbie felt like blushing at that endearment. The father she never had, and he's one of the most powerful men in the whole wide world.
Meanwhile, present me stepped it up a bit to reach the airport; time was burning up like a shuttle in reentry, and I'm sure Vita's fuming in the mouth over my slacking.
"Objection," One of those voices said sternly, "What factor does your personal histories play into this trial?"
"The antics of the defendant are of close linkage to the leeway I have been giving her. She needs to be indulged, she has had absent parental figures most her whole life, parents whose 'I love yous' were scant in between the growths of learning to cook and tidy her own bed!"
Debbie recoiled slightly at the reminder; her passing the psych evals for the Reserve Divisions weren't exactly curated for intricated detail, but thankfully, she was hardened enough against the lack of courtesy, and wasn't going to raise the kind of stink drama reels typically portray of broken families.
"Freedom of speak granted, Khan. Remember to stay on course for the real issue, however."
"Your courtesy is appreciated. What I'm saying is that despite the lack of emotional intelligence one typically expects from Academy alumni, she had exercised her utmost to build herself, to excite herself, every day without severe dereliction. She did pull a few stunts, but nowhere as problematic or actively malicious!"
"Her stability in daily life remains in question, you can confirm."
"Definitely, yet she still has room; a total loss she is not, and this was the only time she had been caught with the ticket! If I may, there's a reason her fees were nowhere near crushing for her in spite of stretching the regulations and taking more than half the district."
The spat took a few more whiles for a forced conclusion.
"All are excused. Ms. Gossller, your abeyance to the rulers shall, with much interest and need for well-being, be observed with closeness."
/
…Ow.
What the hell happened? Am I dead? Is this-
Nah, nah, don't get ahead of myself. I'm still here, and I need to see my unit right now. I think I remember landing into the ground, speeding a bit further – confused that the sirens got replaced by a lot more intense ones (okay, I wasn't, I did read that email awhile ago) – and then stepped it up.
That was when my chassis gave up. Fucking useless worthless pipes…this is what I get for being a cheapskate.
Imagine that.
Debbie Gossller, rally racer driver and Silk Way champion…can't even choose to show of her privilege by buying something like her own rally car.
No, she has to make do over and over again with an alleged junkers kind of car. Utterly pathetic. But at least it stopped me from paying too dearly for my mistakes. Oh well.
"So this is it, huh, the usual cycle-continues deal we get?!" An angry guard charged at me. "What in all Magadanes' name are you doing?!"
"Um…uh…I need a break and…I need my guys like yesterday." The excuse was rather contrived.
The guard of course looked unconvinced. "So that gives you the right to pull your usual bullshit off, you just speed and sma-"
"Hey!" I rarely do raise my voice. "I'm here. And right now, unless you were asleep, we got a fucking furball right in our backyard. But your concern is boo-bee-hoo, smashin' old Debbie is such an asshole? I get that, I get those shouts back at Highway 1, and I'm trying to change, damn it, okay?!"
"So you're serious on that. Follow me, you should know the directions but I'm pretty sure…that bump and plump made your senses scrambled."
I relaxed my arms, made sure my standard-issue jimmies were tidied up, and followed her lead. I then heard that in the background:
A news broadcast, played out loud at max volume.
That was my cue.
The Reserve Division
The Reserve Divisions in the Pacific Federation is a per-state-based reserve component of each state's respective military apparatus. They are predominantly comprised of members who both hold civilian and military occupations and are not generally kept under arms unless in times of military or natural crisis.
The Pacific Federation offers many privileges and benefits for citizens that join their respective state's reserves, including but not limited to
Preferential tax status Military specialization-based stipends Higher information security clearance Travel pre-clearance Deference for labor relocations (continued in Section Four-C Blue)
Federation Reserve Division - Combat Pilots
One of the most valued positions within the reserves, applicants who score high on their entrance exam in both martial and mental grading are offered the path to becoming combat aviators within respective divisions.
This path is perhaps the most intensive of reservist roles due to the fact that it assigns reservists to the same training path as pilots in the unified Federation Military. Reservists who choose to become pilots in their reserve divisions instead of the Federation Military are often willing to pass on fuller benefits in exchange for staying closer to their respective homes and occupations.
Table of Contents
Scenario Alpha Scenario Bravo Potential Reinforcements Escalation Scenario Rear Guard Assignment Available Support Contingency Known Intel Identification Chart Local Maps And Surroundings Relevant Authorities Bullseye