While Roger prepares for his patrol with a friendly face, Prince Edmund faces the arrival of his commander, Lord-General Militant Paulus Borricelli, who brings reprimand and bad news. In the aftermath, Robert D'Uxford is rudely interrupted while in the middle of something important.
As a result of the commanders meeting, the Imperial Navy is finally forced to support the campaign on Haikk Four, and a lowly member of the Aeronautica Imperialis is thrust into the fray, literally, and metaphorically...
The Cathedral of the Martyred Lady had been chosen, shortly after a vicious and quick fight to retake it, as the headquarters for the Third Corps not just because it was tall enough to be an easily identifiable rally point, but its height gave its inhabitants an excellent view of the area surrounding it. This was especially true of the two bell towers that dwarfed anything in the hundred or so square miles around it, a sign of Imperial and religious superiority to the lowly peasants who lived around it. Instead of being populated by priests and faithful, it now was home to the brains and muscle of Anglerres commitment to Imperial military might.
And standing in one of those mighty bell towers was its commander, Edmund, Prince of Gasceaux, son of King Edward the Seventeenth, and owner of multiple titles that he could never remember, or cared to. He was a prince and a general, and that was enough for him. Staring out into the moonlit plains that petered out into the spanning deserts of Haikk, he found himself once again in deep thought. He had dreamed as a child of being a leader of a massive army, playing with little toy soldiers from his earliest days, thinking of the myriad glories he would gain for himself. Now he had it, but instead of fighting war, he found the post was a delicate juggling routine, dealing with politics, not just of the planet but his own officers foibles, supplies, and having to appease a higher command that he held in about as much regard as the cathedrals janitorial staff. Actually thinking about it, at least the janitors cleaned up shit, his commanders only made a bigger mess of things.
"Well at least I can find you somewhere close this time Ed."
The Prince's thoughts were broken by his closest friend and confidant.
"I alternate to keep you on your toes, Duck. Next time I'll be all the way to Al-Madin and you're going to have to drag me back."
"If I had any sense, I would leave you there."
Edmund laughed, a roaring bark that seemed to echo through the entire cathedral.
"My father wouldn't like that very much."
"If I told him you were dumb enough to go that far, he would probably understand."
"Then you would have to deal with my mother."
Robert D'Uxford, Lord of Clavham, pondered this for a moment.
"Now that is a prospect I would be afraid of."
Edmund finally broke off his vigil and turned to his spymaster.
"You know what I was thinking about? Serjeant Wessyng. For some reason, I had a sudden feeling he's gotten himself into some deep shit."
"I doubt a simple reconnaissance can cause any serious situation."
"Maybe. Speaking of deep shit, I saw the Valkyrie arrive. I take it Borricelli is here?"
"Correct, Your Highness."
"Is he happy?"
D'Uxford shook his head slowly.
"Of course."
XXXXXX
Lord General Militant Paulus Borricelli, supreme commander of the Haikk Crusade, once known as the Lion of Lepavia, the man who conquered three systems in a year, was hardly the figure he once cut. Even with extensive juvnat treatments, he looked, felt, and seemed old, a past his prime has been, not just to his princely host, but to a distressingly large group of Departmento Munitorum bureaucrats and paper pushers who despised failure and the commander who perpetuated it, fairly or unfairly.
"Prince Edmund," he said in his raspy, Neomedian accented voice. "I thank you for receiving me on such short notice, and with such dire consequences we are facing at the moment."
Sitting on his throne, Edmund tried his hardest to seem polite and welcoming. He did not hate the man, in fact, Edmund found him pitiable, a man who had achieved so much so long ago, now finding himself in embarrassing circumstances. But he represented everything about the Imperial Guard command he hated: old, unwelcome to newcomers, and intolerant to new ideas.
"As if I would refuse to accept a visit from my commander. Lord-General, you humble my corps with your presence."
The old general smiled, the creases in his face showing.
"Thank you, your highness. I would like to discuss some things with you. Personally."
Edmund nodded and waved his hand. Borricelli did the same, his colorful personal guardsmen exiting with drilled efficiency. In moments, the two were left alone.
Edmund sat still, Borricelli seeming to stare a hole through his chest.
"Lord-General, the reports I have gained-"
A gloved hand silenced him as it was raised.
"You disappoint me, Edmundo. Very greatly."
Edmund slumped a bit. He knew this was coming, but this was not going to be enjoyable.
"My orders, as you will remember them, were specific. You stayed and awaited orders from me, or the chance to unite with Sixth Corps. Instead, I get reports that you have disobeyed my orders, and you have even defied officers under my staff who attempted to… correct, your behavior."
"Lord-General, I do not think that Sixth Corps will come to our aid anytime soon. General Volkster is not exactly my first choice of-"
"Volkster is an incompetent, lecherous fool. I agree with you, whether you believe it or not. I have ears in all of my forces. What did you call him? A…"incompetent shithead?" But I believe that one word summary: "Cunt", was quite sufficient in giving a good idea of the man."
Edmund, despite being browbeaten by one of the most powerful Imperial figures in this part of space, decided to show defiance.
"And I stand by every word. He has no skill in any command. His staff is a disaster. And if even half of the rumors about him taking prisoners and making a harem of them is true, I would rather cut his throat than serve with him."
Borricellis face was impassive and unchanged.
"Words dangling on the sword edge of treasonous, But entirely understandable. And agreeable to me."
Taking some heart in this, Edmund continued.
"If I were you, forgive me for being impertinent-"
"Ha!"
"Apologies, Lord-General. I think you should remove Volkster and put Lovric in command. His work in the mountains to the south of here can only be described as textbook perfection."
"I would, but his corps would be left deprived of a good leader. And that would mean Volkster would have to go somewhere."
Edmund thought about this and shrugged.
"He wants a segmentum post."
"Then I would have to personally deal with him. No thank you, Your Highness."
"Understandable. I fear we are without a real solution then."
"Which is why I'm keeping him at his current post. Additionally, I believe that the best place for an incompetent is somewhere he can do the least amount of damage. Having a staff position would push him into a cubby hole, but he would be in a very important post, and he might have a serious input on the strategy of the crusade. So in the interest of a successful campaign, and to avert further damage to our already struggling efforts, you will tolerate him as commander of Sixth Army Group."
Edmund balled his hands into fists, but he couldn't debate the sense it made.
"Very well, Lord-General."
Borricelli smiled for a moment, before his face darkened even more than it already had.
"There is another issue I want to bring up with you. It involves your alliance with the Xenos."
"I am not betraying them."
"That... was not what I was intending to discuss."
Edmund sat up, eyebrows arched in suspicion.
"And what do you want to discuss?"
"I have sources telling me that your affiliation with the Eldar has gotten the attention of the wrong people, Edmundo."
"Explain."
"There are those not only amongst the Munitorum, or the Administratum, but some of the highest levels of Imperial government. And most of them are not satisfied."
"Who do you mean?"
Borricelli gave him a long, hard look, which made Edmunds blood freeze.
"The Inquisition?"
"It's not a consensus, but more than a few of their people posted around this system are raising objections. And it's not just on you. Some are starting to ask what kind of person raises a man who is so willing to ally with one of Mankind's oldest enemies."
Edmund shot up from his throne, the fury in his voice unhidden.
"Those fu-"
Borricelli looked at him in surprise, making Edmund remember who he was in the room with.
"Those people wouldn't dare. They know who my mother is, for the Emperor's sake. Do they think a son of a Sororitas would be raised a traitor or a heretic?"
Borricelli took a jug on the table in front of the throne, pouring himself some wine that he now felt was necessary for this conversation.
"Technically speaking, by allowing a force of Eldari to be with our forces, and our tacit acceptance of it, we are in fact, by the dictionary definition, heretics."
Edmund walked over to the Lord-General, holding his own goblet, pouring himself some as well.
"They do know that the Eldar have been an essential part in what little success we have achieved?"
"An inconvenient fact, one that puts my head on the chopping block, by the way. That we need the help of Xenos to get even a single success is hardly a compliment to how well my command is going. I tell you this not only because I have found the Inquisition to be a necessary, but increasingly damaging evil, it is also because I would prefer one of the few successful commanders I have not be killed by some overzealous agent."
"I appreciate that, Lord-General."
Edmund held his goblet up towards the Lord-General, giving a smile. The Lord-General responded in kind, tapping his cup to the goblet before they both took a swig.
"Now, I want to see these reports your advanced scouts had provided to us."
XXXXXX
Robert D'Uxfords quarters were comfortably warm thanks to the previously installed fireplace, the fire crackling as it illuminated the room. Robert himself was writing instructions to one of his agents, seemingly oblivious to the actions he had been involved in shortly before. Sister Isabel, Hospitaller and personal medical advisor to the Prince and his retinue, stretched out naked on the spymaster's bed, watching as he worked.
"Robby, it's been an hour. I think we can go for one more round before anyone notices we're absent from our posts."
D'Uxford looked up from his parchment, looking at the Hospitallers stocky, slightly muscular body.
"These instructions could be the deciding factor as to whether or not we secure our lines to the south," he said with feigned disinterest.
He tapped the table he was writing on, inspecting Isabel, even though he would probably have known every part of her by now, given her rather rigorous requirements for their relationship.
"But-" he said as he rose from his chair, slowly taking his night robe off and approaching the bed, crawling towards her.
"I think the front can wait another hour. It won't break, I expect."
"The sacrifices we make for the protection of mankind, eh Robby?"
Running a hand along her back and passionately kissing her, he slightly laughed, something Isabel knew he rarely did around anyone but her or Edmund.
"The suffering I endure for the cause. Before we go any further, I wanted to ask you something," he whispered in her ear.
"And what's that?"
"That fleur-de-lis "down there." I imagine it's a bit of a difficult shave, as it were."
"I can show you next time it has to be tended to."
"I look forward to it," he said, slightly pushing her down.
"Now, I heard from your Palatine that you were late in attending to the Captals sprained wrist. I think I need to find a way to make sure that never happens again. We have to keep up an efficient, professional command environment, after all."
"Oh dear, how ever will you do-"
The door to his quarters shook, the pounding of a hand echoing like a drum. The two instantly froze, looking to the door in terrified silence.
"DUCK! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, WE NEED TO TALK NOW!"
"Holy shit, it's Edmund," Isabel said in horror.
"I'm aware. Alright. Here's what we'll do. That bookshelf has a panic room behind it for me. I told you about that."
The Hospitaller nodded quickly.
"Pull "Stories of the Western Isles" twice. I remember."
"Right. Jump to it, I'll give you some time."
He leapt off the bed and quickly moved to grab his robe.
"Edmund, I was in the middle of something, give me a minute to clean up a bit."
"Throne's sake-be quick dammit!"
He heard the bookshelf open and looked back to see Isabel barely covering herself and staring at him.
"What now?"
"You have a nice ass."
"Get in the damn panic room!"
Edmund bellowed from behind the door.
"You say something to me, Duck?"
"Talking to myself Ed!"
He motioned her to move, and gave a sigh of satisfaction when the bookshelf closed. Pulling his robe on, he opened the door to find his liege, face red with anger and wearing his full regalia. As he had guessed, the Lord-General's visit went as well as he expected.
"I take it old Paulus gave you some bad news?"
"Of course he gave me goddamn bad news! What does he ever do?"
Edmund stomped into the room, still seething in anger.
"And he even told me- fucking hell! It smells atrocious in here!"
D'Uxford looked startled.
"Ed?"
"What, did you cook fish in here? Open a goddamn window!"
"I don't have windows."
"Oh for-"
Edmund threw up his hands in frustration, finally slumping into one of the two chairs in front of the fire.
"Sit down Duck. I got news."
Obeying, Robert sat down next to the Prince.
"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."
"No Ed. So tell me what Paulus said."
"Well, the war is going as well as the last time I talked to him, as in, not well at all. Army Group Three is finally embarking on transport ships, so Haikk Three is finally secured. He isn't sure of where he will be deploying them, but hopefully they will be reinforcing us. Volkster is not moving anywhere. Paulus would rather have him be our problem on Haikk Four than deal with him in a staff position. So good try."
"At least we attempted it."
"Additionally, it seems that our strategy is working. Resistance in Golgotha is breaking down. Popular support is collapsing without food there, and I have heard five regiments of troops defending the hive just melted away. Vanished. They're gone. So while I was chewed out, the Chevauchee strategy-" he turned to Robert and smiled. "Is now officially sanctioned."
"Fantastic. And we even have managed to damage hostile units elsewhere."
"It's not all good news though."
Robert stared at the Prince and quickly realized what he was talking about.
"The Eldar."
"Correct. Apparently our alliance is making some high ups in the Imperiums hierarchy more than a little annoyed."
"We already have proven our effectiveness with their support, so the Munitorum can forget about us changing course."
"It's not the Munitorum."
"You don't mean-"
"Some of them want to interrogate my family. My parents! All because I adapt to the environment and find success instead of just charging along the wrong way! Those skull-fetish cunts have the nerve, no, the fucking gall! To go after the rulers of a whole planet, one of whom was a member of the very faith they are sworn to ensure loyalty to, because I found a way to finally win on this Emperor-forsaken rock!"
Edmund was now shivering in rage, his eyes twitching, fingernails digging into the finely carved woodwork of the chair. Robert gently patted his friend's shoulder.
"I doubt the Inquisition as a whole agrees with the sentiment. Now please calm down. Getting angry and anxious over something that is only a vague possibility won't help, and you're digging into a chair that I paid more than a pretty penny for."
"Rational and self-interested as always, Duck."
"I have responsibilities and believe in protecting my property. Aso I hate wasting money."
"Have you heard from our forward observation force?"
"You mean Wessyng and his troops? No, nothing since my last check-in. I will let him know that according to our best estimate, we have cut food production down fifteen percent since the Chevauchee started. His work has been invaluable, as usual."
Edmund watched the fire continue to burn. Robert looked at the Prince, waiting to see what he would say.
"I need to reward that man," Edmund whispered.
"Agreed."
"Maybe give him a medal. Or tell him he gets a small estate in Susich or wherever the hell he's from. He saved our flank, he's proving our strategy worked and saved my ass from being beat by Paulus, and he's made sure our Eldar alliance hasn't gone up in flames. What do you think?"
"I think we should give him something a bit more permanent than a medal or two acres of land."
Edmund nodded slowly.
"I'll think of something. Plenty of time to figure it out."
The two continued to watch the fire slowly die out. Suddenly Edmund grunted and sat up.
"Oh, and the Navy is actually going to give us some support!"
Robert smirked, the closest to a smile he ever got most of the time.
"So we can expect a capital ship over Yazd ready to batter them into submission?"
"Duck, if sarcasm was a weapon, you would have wiped out the entire Third Corps just now. THey're supplying us with air support. Three squadrons, one bomber, one fighter, and a reconnaissance squadron."
"For just our corps?"
"The entire planet."
"That's rather light."
"They'll be all assigned to our area of operations. So we now have a handful of dedicated air units to assist us."
"They have anti air."
Edmund slumped a bit.
"I know. But at least the recon unit can help us. Corroborate what those Leopards are telling us, eh?"
"Silver linings."
Edmund nodded and stood up.
"Well, it's late enough and I'll have to plan for new missions tomorrow. Also the smell here is making me bloody sick. Clean it up man."
"No need to be rude, Ed."
Edmund waved his hand as he walked to the door, pulling it open and halfway through when he stopped.
"Duck?"
"Yes Ed?"
"Your panic room is open. Don't be sloppy, please."
"Damn. I'll take care of it. Good night Ed."
"Night Duck."
The door closed, Robert rushing over to the door and putting his ear on the large wooden slab, listening as Edmund stalked up to his quarters. Hearing silence, and slowly opening the door to inspect, he closed it and opened the panic room. Isabel was sitting in his chair, shivering after being left stark naked in a cold basement room for a while.
"Finally. I thought he would never leave."
"I was worried you were made with that comment on the panic room."
Standing up and leaving nothing to the imagination, the Hospitaller went back into the room, sighing with satisfaction at the warmth within.
"Much better," she said before getting back on the bed.
"You all right?"
"Cold, and a bit nervous still. I don't like surprises like that."
Robert nodded before going back to the door, securing the deadlock before turning back to her.
"Now that we won't be bothered… I know a quick way to warm you up."
"Robby…" she said playfully as Robert D'Uxford did what he always did: finish what he started.
XXXXXX
The Defiant-Class cruiser Obstinate held in an orbiting pattern with the rest of the Imperial Navies Haikk Squadron, a mere minnow when surrounded by its massive battleship and battlecruiser kin. But what it held instead of massive batteries was as effective, if not more, in half the battles the squadron had engaged in: attack craft. Half of its aircraft were dedicated to vacuum engagements, Fury and Starhawk aircraft that would defend the fleet, while the other half were dedicated to atmospheric combat, Thunderbolts and Marauders to assist ground forces. And now, they were going to be at half strength, the rest being sent down to Haikk Four. Sitting in one of the Obstinate's briefing rooms, the crews that were selected for the deployment tried to stay awake as they were bombarded, pun intended, with information. Standing at the front, pointing to slides projected from a servo-skull, Wing Commander Alfred Heinz tried to make a dry, miserable presentation interesting.
"In summary, we're looking at a reasonable deployment. We're facing little hostile engagement, most of what would be heavy targets are too well defended to strike outright, and we already seem to have the situation under control."
"Then why the fuck are we going down there?" One of the fighter pilots asked, frustration in his voice.
"Because we were ordered too."
"Great. The pricks on the Immovable have seen constant combat over Golgotha, and we get stuck babysitting a bunch of knights and shit-covered peasants."
"I understand your frustration, Captain, but we are assisting the total victory and recapture of Haikk Four this way. We're cutting off their food supply, and we're making progress. We're going to make sure our friends in the Guard can win this."
Some grunts and sighs followed.
"Realistically, Bomber Wing 2755, you boys are going to be the heroes for the hour for once."
A few laughs and catcalls.
"Especially Eagle Squadron. Your Vigilants are much needed from what I've been told."
"Eyes in the Sky, baby!" One of the Vigilant crewmen responded.
"Yes, yes. You'll all get briefed further when you break planetside. Airbases, as usual, behind the lines. Don't know how long you'll be there until you're rotated out with the other half and come back aboard, but I wouldn't say anything longer than a few months. Get used to gravity, everyone. It's a bastard when you get back in space. Any questions?"
No one spoke or raised a hand.
"Excellent. Dismissed!"
Chairs scraping on the floor and grunts echoed through the room as the motley group of fighter pilots, bomber crewmen, assorted navigators and ground crew commanders stood up and left, or woke up their asleep comrades, much to the latters discontent.
One group of five left the opposite way almost all the others did, preferring to go to the hangar instead of the mess hall or pilots quarters.
Lieutenant Jacob Rawls, pilot and commander of the Vigilant "Pic Perfect", or "Pixy", as they called it, was followed by the rest of his crew as they moved into the hangar bay. The roaring of machinery, repairing or tweaking the variety of craft stored within, was nearly deafening.
"Chuck, Andre, I want you to double check your weapons. Just because the Techpriests "fixed" it doesn't mean I believe them."
"They better have gotten my cooling vents cleaned. Nearly had to pull a bucket out, that much damn gunk in it," Chuck muttered.
"And had the gall to tell me I was loading a Bolter wrong, like I don't know a feed malfunction when I see one. Metal Headed jerk-offs," Andre hissed.
"At least the navigation system worked. Probably because the AdMech never had to touch it," Eleni said, her job of trying to plan out routes not nearly as labor intensive as the weapon operators.
"What about you, Max? Techies mess your pic system up on the last check-up?"
Crewman Maximilian Witt was the youngest and newest member of the crew, specialized as a surveyor, able to take pic captures of enemy positions over target and give an initial assessment to the main analysts behind the lines.
"Nothing I noticed, sir."
"Good. Sal always said it was the most useful thing aboard Pixy, and I guess he's still right."
Their previous surveyor, Sal, had been killed in an accident, one that's supposed investigation and quick closure had led to a more hostile relation between them and the majority of the Adeptus Mechanicus on board.
"Oh Throne, they're working on it now,' Rawls said as they closed in on their craft.
The Marauder Vigilant was developed during the Second Armageddon War, used to identify and target high value areas to attack for the beleaguered troops on the ground. Almost indistinguishable to the standard Marauder, the more aware onlooker would notice its bomb bay covered in a variety of lenses, antennae, and no discernable doors. Painted on the nose was a personal touch, a scantily clad Armageddon Guardswoman smiling with a camera in her hands, the neck straps barely covering her breasts. From what Max heard, it looked like a woman Rawls had some sort of relationship with.
"Hello, brother. I take it you're trying and failing to fix my plane?"
The taller techpriest, tendrils sprouting from his back, stared at him through lifeless eyepieces.
"Lieutenant Rawls," he said in a flat, mechanical drone, "Craft MV-1563867 is at acceptable operating standards for a mission lasting-ONE-annum."
"Great. Now get off that wing and go somewhere else. And stay away from my toaster."
The rest of the crew, save Max, laughed. The techpriest bowed and used his tendrils to lower himself to the ground and began to head off. He suddenly turned around and spoke again.
"Adept-TAMARA- is inside your craft. She is assessing your internal equipment. You will-NOT-attempt to interfere."
Rawls shrugged and the techpriest moved away.
"Tamara isn't too bad. At least you can tell she was once a human, unlike most of these bastards."
Rawls turned to Max.
"Go inside and check our equipment. The rest of us will check outside for anything wrong."
Max made a parody of a salute and nodded. Eleni gently grabbed his shoulder and whispered to him.
"We all think she has a soft spot for you, so maybe you'll get us that heater fixed as a favor," she said before grinning and walking off to check the engines.
More than a little annoyed, Max straightened his shoulders and crawled through the crew hatch.
The cramped body of the Vigilant was filled with various machines, all in the service of intelligence collection, but made crew comfort at best a secondary thought. Moving through the assorted equipment, he heard something clunking, along with the scraping of metal on metal. Looking over the main navigation cogitator, Max saw a middle-aged woman, still recognizable as human given the relatively few augments she had for a Tech-Priestess. She was on her back, working with wires and other pieces of small machinery. The clunking was her metallic legs tapping in frustration.
"Is someone there?" she said, annoyance oozing from her words.
"Madam Tamara, it's Airman Witt."
She stopped working the wires and revealed her face, almost untouched except for an implant on the side of her head. She smiled as she looked at him.
"Hello Max. Would you mind handing me that set of pliers?"
"Which… which ones?" he said, looking at the pile of tools near her legs.
"Red handled. Long and thin pincers."
He grabbed a tool that looked as good a guess he could give and handed them to her.
"Perfect. Thank you. I heard Rawly outside yelling at Brother Falad. You're lucky he's had work on his cortex, he can't tell what insults are anymore. Still-Omnissiah!"
She blurted the curse out as a bright light flashed from her cubbyhole, her legs kicking out and knocking some of the tools away, nearly slamming into Max's feet.
"You all right?"
"Well, the good news is that Pixy's Machine Spirit is still here. And your Pic equipment works. Bad news is I just got one of the worst shocks of my life. Thanks be to the Omnissiah for that catheter implant I got, I might've pissed myself."
"Ew."
"Come on Max, I'm an older woman, I can't take things as well as you youngsters can."
She exited the cubbyhole and stood up, her clothes stained with grease and what looked like the reddish remains of rust residue.
"Anyway, what did you want?"
"LT wanted me to check if you fixed everything."
She laughed and started organizing her tools.
"Just because his last surveyor died of faulty equipment, now he's second guessing us all the time. It was an accident. They happen. Even to us. Machine Spirits are fickle things."
"I believe you, but I can't convince the rest of the crew."
She nodded and looked at her checklist.
"A few other things to fix in here, but mostly re-entry systems."
"Please be sure of those, I beg of you."
"Ever made a re-entry?"
Max scratched the back of his head nervously.
"Only… in training. Twice."
"Never in this?"
"...no."
She patted her one fleshy arm on his shoulder and giggled.
"Pixy has done this plenty of times without fail. Don't worry."
"I'll trust it because you're fixing it."
She smiled and patted his cheek.
"Aren't you a charmer? You remind me of my son, ya know that? I keep hearing from my friends there that he likes chasing Skitarii. Easy to charm them though, only think of fighting. Well, tell Rawly that Pixy will be in tip-top shape."
Max blushed a bit and nodded, heading to the crew hatch before stopping.
"Oh, madam?"
"Please Max, just Tamara."
"Tamara, could you look at the heater?"
The Adept frowned.
"You wear clothing to protect you from the cold. That heater won't get fixed because it's not necessary. And it'll take me a good hour to repair…"
Max tried to give a kitten-like look of innocence.
"Please?"
Tamara bit her lip and looked at the heating unit.
"Dammit, you're too cute to say no to. Alright. I'll take care of it. Don't tell Falad."
"I promise we won't. We'll get you something for your trouble. Promise."
"Deal. Now get out of here. I have work to do."
"Thank you, Tamara."
"Yeah yeah."
Climbing out of the crew hatch, he saw his four comrades waiting for him.
"Well?" Rawls said.
Max gave a thumbs up, the rest of the crew quietly celebrating with fist pumps and hi-fives.
XXXXXX
A few hours later, the five loaded into Pixy, taking their positions as Rawls made a final check.
"Turrets secured and sealed?"
"Check," Chuck and Andre said at the same time.
"Navigation systems operational?"
"Showing we're above Haikk Four surrounded by friendly units."
"Observation equipment prepped for re-entry?"
Max looked for the third time at the cogitator, showing all antenna and camera equipment was stored and sealed in the body of the Vigilant.
"Check sir!"
"Excellent. Checking stabilizers, good, rudder, that's fine. All hardpoints are sealed… I think we're ready to go! Pray if you need folks, we're hitting vacuum in a minute."
"Let's go!" Eleni yelled at Max, who knew he was positively terrified of re-entry. She was hoping that her enthusiasm would calm him, but in all reality it made him more frightened.
"Quiet on board." Rawls said before switching to the control tower.
"Obstinate Control, Eagle 3 is prepared for launch, over."
A metallic and harsh response came quickly.
"Roger Eagle 3."
A few moments of silence followed before control broke in again.
"Eagle Squadron, Obstinate Control, hangar is cleared and all personnel evac'd. Hangar doors opening in ten."
Max looked out the windshield as he heard the clunking of Pixy's frame as the pressure changed to that of the vacuum surrounding the ship. He saw the massive hangar doors open shortly afterwards, the dark blackness of space revealing itself.
"Obstinate Control to Eagle Squadron, all hangar doors open. Prepare to launch and depart. The Emperor Protects."
Silence filled the Vigilant as they awaited for the magnetic catapult it rested on to throw them out. And then, like the God-Emperor pulled the craft himself, it was thrust out from the cruiser.
"Wow," Max said in surprise, unsure of what else to say.
"Easy parts done Max," Rawls said nonchalantly. "Now the hard part."
"Eagle Lead to Eagle Squadron, form on me."
"Eagle 3 copies Lead, joining formation."
A few moments passed, and Max could see the Vigilant of their wing leader in front.
"Eagle Lead to Eagle Squadron, cogitators have given us a re-entry solution. We'll be right at the airfield if all goes well. Follow me."
All the Vigilants in the wing obeyed, and Max felt the thrusters roar at full power. He gasped when Haikk Four came into view as they swung around. Even with his training, seeing a full planet in front of you was a sight to behold.
"Look at that dustball," Chuck grumbled.
"Jewel of Haikk from what I'm told," Rawls said, experienced enough to double-task guiding a craft through the difficult process of re-entry and talk.
"Fucking indictment on the system," the gunner snorted.
Suddenly the engines cut out, and Max felt a sudden pull towards the bright light Haikk Four emanated. He realized they were dropping onto the planet.
"Everyone strap in if you're stupid enough to not be already. Here we go," Rawls said, tensing up as the controls began to fight him.
The Vigilant started rocking, shuddering as it rushed down to the planet. Things went red as they lowered through the atmosphere, what looked like flames streaking across the entirety of the cockpit windshield. Max felt like his stomach was rising to his throat, as if he was falling off the side of a building and just kept dropping. Suddenly he lurched to the left, almost slamming his head into his equipment.
"Dammit, something just came off the wing."
"Fucking AdMech!" Andre shouted.
Max went pale and started sweating profusely. It didn't help that the heat of re-entry was making the inside of the Vigilant stifling. He tried to pray but found his mouth was so dry he couldn't say anything. He felt the craft pull right suddenly, watching as Rawls slammed his right foot down on the rudder pedal.
"There. Better. Sorry, everyone. BRACE!"
Tightening up, he felt pulled down, as if his entire body was being pounded into the floor. Then he rose again, barely catching any breath in the whole process. He looked out the windshield to see darkness, pockmarked by bright lights.
"Planetside!" Rawls said, more than a little relief in his voice.
He swung down a little, seeing green and red lights blinking in the distance.
Eleni tapped Max's shoulder and pointed.
"That's the airfield. Textbook re-entry. Wasn't that bad, right?"
Max tried to say yes, but let out a squeak that received a bout of laughter from his crewmates.
The VTOL system kicked in as they landed, hovering for a few seconds before the landing skids deployed. And with a barely noticeable jolt, Pic Perfect and her crew safely arrived on Haikk Four. Liquid rushed over the windshield, and the sounds of pouring water echoed through the Vigilant. The heat of re-entry made it unapproachable, but after a minute or two, it was cool enough for ground crew to open the hatch.
"Welcome to Haikk Four guys! Took you long enough!" a groundcrew man joked.
"Sorry we're late," Rawls responded. "How's our left wing look? Something came off it."
"We heard from the tower. Worried you guys were done for. From what I can tell, someone left one of the maintenance jacks on your wing. Rolled it up so you couldn't see it. Sure as hell felt it though, eh?"
"Those red robed morons. Have all that cogitator power in their brains and still can't figure out basic shit," Rawls grumbled.
Soon the whole crew and their personal equipment was out on the runway, seeing the Lightning fighter craft arrive and land. Max looked out into the desert night, deep in thought. He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw a canteen in the hands of Rawls. He nodded and took a swig, finding it had some form of hard liquor.
"Calm your nerves a bit, eh?"
"Yes sir," Max coughed.
"See, it wasn't that bad."
The two were silent for a minute, looking out into the endless sands.
"I would say it's been a bad day, but we're all safe."
"Bingo kid. And if it makes you feel any better-" he pointed out to the desert.
"Someone out that way is probably having a worse day than you, right?"
Max laughed in agreement.
