According to a recent survey conducted by the Council of Public Interests, the communications department of any given Crusader station ranks amongst the most hectic of work environments. These offices, ubiquitously located in the left wing of the station's bottom floor, remain in a constant state of flux during hours of operation.

Anyone visiting this department for the first time would also find these offices lacking chairs or any apparatus for resting one’s legs. This was because every station's department head inevitably removed them due to lack of use. In fact the move was often heralded by the staff as it gave them one less obstacle to traverse when moving about the department in a timely manner. The more fastidious might even point out that time spent transitioning from sitting to standing and vice versa amounted to time wasted.

Not unlike the dissolution of chair use, the number of people working in the department at a given time had undergone optimization. As having too many people on hand consistently contributed to disarray and clutter. Station Belveer was no exception to any of these proclivities.

It was this speed and efficiency that served as the hallmarks of the department, and the same could said for its staff. But that same staff would also unanimously agree that the most important quality a stationed CO needed was the ability to separate credible information from hot air.

Making this distinction was a crucial prerequisite to transmitting updates to a convoy's Head Communications Officer. At the same time it was necessary to make timely use of any information supplied from the convoys themselves, as the observations from officers in the field were more time sensitive and could aid in distinguishing between the information received and confirming the veracity of sources.

With time veteran officers would develop enough expertise to extrapolate motives behind the information they received. There is no such thing as a free lunch. This held especially true in information warfare. As such, whenever a third party provided their take on an unfolding situation without requesting anything in return, it was left up to the officer managing the conclave to figure out why. Failure to do so brought into question the validity of the information being supplied, and therefore unworthy of being passed onto the convoy. Fortunately, there came times when sources didn't need to be scrutinized, only condensed.

"We just got word back from the outfit sent by the Council of Mitigation, the headquarters of one of the first listed anti-faith faction came up empty. As for the second..."

The weary middle-aged man flipped between a series of paperwork, before presenting the department head a pair of vanilla folders. After which he further loosened the already limp tie around his neck.

"They’ve turned up documentation indicating the purchase of arms from a mercenary group based outside the Commonwealth."

The department head, a grizzled thickset man, plopped the folders onto his desk and began to thumb through them.

"Collins, I'm sure we've discussed this before...but there isn't a dress code in place requiring you to wear a tie. To say nothing of the fact you've yet to wear it properly."

"Ah, well that would be because I never learned to tie one."

[Collins Rockwell, 35, Communications Division]

Such a revelation should come as a surprise in light of his subordinates age, and yet the chief found that nothing the man in front of him ever said could really be categorized as a surprise. If he were to guess it had something to do with the matter-of-fact way in which the man delivered all of his statements. It was a fact that he'd never learned to tie a tie, it'd never crossed his mind to withhold such information. Even if it could be interpreted as improper for a man of his ilk. If anything, the head felt somewhat responsible for not chastizing his dressing habits sooner.

"I could teach you."

"I'm afraid I'll have to refuse."

"Why? It’s no trouble."

The department head’s eyes flicked up and down as they skimmed the details of documentation. Although skim might have been the wrong word. It sounded like a lackadaisical way of digesting the information on the page. It’s just that years of experience reading such reports taught him where to look for the most prudent information.

"I'd much prefer to be taught by a cute girl concerned about my appearance in passing."

"Not to dash that dream of yours Collins, but each day you grow older the likelihood of such a sublime occurrence only dwindles."

The man pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Precisely, only a true angel would go to the trouble of helping an older man with his appearance. Even more so factoring in that most young people believe men my age shouldn't try so hard to begin with."

"Why you're more self-aware than I was led to believe."

The department head finished his scouring the report and leaned both hands on either side of the desk.

"This is trouble."

"That's an understatement. All signs point to the purchase of a shoulder-fire RED. Assuming that this second anti-faith faction plans to pull the trigger both figuratively and literally, casualties and considerable damage to the cargo are to be expected."

"I’m sure you’ve reviewed the manifest. That convoy commissioned not one, but two sharpshooters. And according to the visit logs neither were among the injured in the first attack. Once they have this information they'll be able to plan around keeping both safe to ensure a reliable counter the threat.”

He gathered up the paperwork and tapped it against the desk before returning both stacks to their assigned folders.

“Not a bad move by the higher ups. They specifically requested multiple sharpshooters knowing the destruction of the cargo might take precedent over it being raided."

"You're operating under the assumption that the sharpshooters will be working under routine raid conditions. However, the most recent logs also revealed the deliberate use of a potential vocal paralyzing agent. Coordination and timing—

Colllins held up two fingers to emphasize his point.

are the two most crucial factors in intercepting rocket fire. An inability to properly communicate will adversely effects both. If that agent is used in tandem with standard concealment methods such as smoke canisters and long distance cover fire, it could be nigh impossible to intercept every rocket."

Satisfied with his point the CO removed his glasses and began cleaning them with a kitten print handkerchief he’d produced from his shirt pocket.

"That sort of extrapolating is why we keep you around Collins. Cute print by the way, another one of your attempts at attracting a cute girl's attention?"

Collins glanced down at the handkerchief in his hand before folding it neatly and returning it to its place in his pocket.

"A gift from my daughter. She's informed me that my appearance was too bland and saw this addition as a fitting solution."

The department head laughed as he stamped his approval on the intel, before passing it off to a runner who’d deliver it to the operator responsible for maintaining contact with the convoy at all times.

"Sounds to me like you've already got a little angel fussing over your appearance. Never would have taken you as the greedy type Rockwell!"

It turns out his subordinate was capable of surprises after all, and that perhaps the communications department of Crusader stations weren't quite as hectic as some were led to believe.

*

"We read you Belveer, caution will be observed going forward. Expect further updates ahead of the next check-in point."

Convoy Commander Heenan removed the headset and set it gingerly on the console, drumming the fingers of his other hand along its surface.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but Crusaders C248 and C384 should currently employ our two sharpshooters?"

Flannery looked up from the analytics detailing the previous visit and made eye contact with the stern man.

"That's correct."

"Ideally we’d move C384 into the forward position, but I can’t imagine the Hussards we’re marking would make it easy. Moving personnel over isn't impossible, but I know better than to disrupt any synergy developed between the existing crews. Especially when we’re already so many visits in."

"If we're decisive about it we might be able to shift from a diamond formation to a train and then back to a diamond before they react."

"Changing positions at this point in the route will draw attention regardless. If we’re going to do it we might as well take the time to do it right. Besides, I'd have played with the formation earlier if I thought it necessary. Or if the terrain had allowed it."

"It could potentially show our hand as well. You get so many visits in and it's likely the most skilled shots have been assigned identifiers."

"You think they'll know we’re on to them? Moving sharpshooters into position ahead of a dangerous stretch would be interpreted as the safe play on any route."

"It's not a given we have multiple sharpshooters. We could just as easily be changing positions because C217, which C384 would swap with, has accrued more injuries. That or we could feign engine troubles, either would justify moving C217 to the rear of the formation."

Heenan weighed their options and decided on making the move asap as it would give them more options going forward. He gave Flannery the go ahead to transmit the orders and shifted his attention to his adversary’s intentions.

Based on evidence scrounged up by the council, one of the anti-faith factions had teamed up with Quiet Murn while the other seemed determined to take matters into their own hands. Whether this second faction just didn't trust raiding parties or simply defaulted to the more cost-effective method, he couldn't say. But Heenan would feel a lot better about the convoy's chances if the RED was in the hands of an activist instead of a party member.

He imagined the second faction was at least aware that a raiding party had been hired, and had worked it into their own plan. And unlike a raiding party the faction in question wouldn't have a time limit working against them. As long as they hit their targets it didn’t matter which part of the route they settled on. What with their goal being destruction of the cargo. But in this case they'd be inclined to sit back and watch as the collaboration depleted the overall fighting strength of the convoy. It would be then, likely at the very end of the route, that they’d make their move.

They’d need to be on full alert for when the rocketeer and his anticipated entourage decided to approach under the mayhem of a another visit by Quiet Murn. Balancing the threats of the recently detected Pipe Down, conventional methods such as smoke canisters and a rocketeer simultaneously would stretch them incredibly thin and allow practically nonexistant room for mistakes. For these reasons, preparations needed to be made now if they planned on reaching Belveer in once piece.

Naturally word had gone out to all the crews, so between visits they could refresh themselves on hand signals to combat the gas and pre-establish assignments for a zone defense if the gas was used in concert with smoke. And now that Heenan had established their formation for the remainder of the route there wasn't much more to be done. Save for composing and delivering some manner of rousing speech over comms. But given such measures were very out of character for him it’d probably only lead to uncertainty in regard to his mental state.

Reaching down he picked up one the feronetic rifles from the bridge's gun safe and re-familiarized himself with its weight and feel. It was as he expertly removed the top cover and checked over the coils that a brief memory from a bygone convoy replayed in his mind.

"Commander, Ms. Villard from C248 would like to speak with you directly regarding an observation she’s made."

So the girl who'd spoken out of turn during the group transmission had more to say. Not something he felt like dealing with at the moment.

"Is it not your job as HC to serve as the medium for observations made by assisting COs?"

"Is it not your job to trust the HC in matters relating to communication.”

A stare down between veterans ensued. One of eleven years and the other, eight.

“Just pick up the damn headset, sounds like she wants to apologize among other things."

Heenan knew better than to prolong the argument and set the rifle back down in favor of recollecting the headset.

"This is Heenan."

"I have a working theory that I’d like to run by you."

Right to the point with this one, she was consistent if nothing else.

"Certainly there exist more viable methods for testing the veracity of this theory that don’t involve demanding an audience from the CC.”

“Your version of a working theory?”

Heenan pinched the bridge of his nose. So much for an apology.

“...go ahead.”

"As I'm sure you recall the two anti-faith factions were among those who fled New Kantler before the poorly timed travel restrictions went into effect."

"Go on."

"You've been made privy to a shipment of Cinnabark arriving in a months' time give or take. How would you spend it?"

Personally Heenan would’ve tried to uncover potential building sites for the institutions, as logistically they’d have to keep the timber stored nearby. Attack the storage locations and the job would be done. Sound of a plan it was, he also understood the message the factions were trying to send by preventing the import of the Cinnabark altogether. He also figured the support behind these groups may waver if attacks started being carried out in the borders of an otherwise peaceful city.

"I’d condense my forces and assign lookouts to choice locations."

"Precisely, now apply that on the scale of a route."

The CC’s eyes darted to the map of the region laid out on top of the console. He began tracing from their starting point with a finger.

"They’d have started by confirming which routes the LCF would be most inclined to use. Accounting for the convoy’s size and the region’s terrain, that would leave routes thirty-seven and forty-one. But they wouldn’t necessarily have to guess right if they placed their lookouts at the correct locations. Because beyond the halfway point there’s virtually no alternative course that would offer conditions favorable enough to pass through uncontested. Which would have been a prerequisite at this stage given the recurrent guerilla attacks dwindling our resources."

"Nice to see we're on the same page. Now, following that line of thought you'd place forces at the junctions ahead of the halfway point, the point of no return. Hell, if they were really on top of things they could have manipulated the route choice through careful troop allocation and weather watching. Fortunately that didn’t seem to be the case. But now that our course has been confirmed all they'd need is a way to signal the manpower scattered at each of the junctions."

"...the flag one of your security officers observed during the first attack."

"I'd imagine the color and orientation of the flag denote a certain meeting point along the route. And in order to make sure we didn't reach that point before the various groups could rendevous they instituted guerrilla tactics at regular intervals. A job they’d leave to members of the anti-faith faction, since novices would be too wary of direct engagements with trained field service personnel."

"They were counting on us to incorrectly attribute the lack of enemy manpower to the notion that raiding the Cinnabark wasn’t necessary to fulfill the parameters of the job."

"When in reality the entire party has congregated up ahead for what is probably an all out assault. Don't get me wrong, it's not like we can do much more in terms of preparation outside of filling out donor paperwork. But..."

"It’s a good thing I make it a point to keep a filled out form on me at all times. Jokes aside, knowing what we’re up against will be crucial to surviving it. If this theory of yours checks out, we should be able to weather it. Good work."

"It is only a theory after all, but it’s basis comes from years of enduring the family mantra that I could, in all likelihood, recite in my sleep."

"Let's hear it then."

"Only a fool fails to account for other fools."

*

Reaching Belveer was proving to be a hassle as anticipated, but not in quite the way Lux or any of the others had anticipated. Up to this point they’d only received recurring visits from the same faction, in other words a collection of amateurs when it came to both riding and marksmanship. As such the challenge had quickly shifted from subjugation of the enemy to dissuasion of the scared and misguided. This entailed firing a minimal number of shots at or around the clusters of panicked faction members in an effort to run them off. And so far it had done the trick.

However, on more than one occasion Lux had witnessed members fleeing into a comrade's line of fire, resulting in further panic or injury. At one point she’d watched as a group Evan had fired warning shots at lose their bearings and flee in the wrong direction. Wrong direction being over the edge of a cliff face obscured by foliage. Safe to say a handful of efforts had been in vain, but they kept it up. At least some of them did.

Not that it surprised Lux, but some of the security officers onboard the other Crusaders had been less than forgiving. Something she’d attribute to the faction’s decision to arm its members with weapons loaned out by Quiet Murn as part of the deal. Of course, they’d probably forgotten to mention that most of the weapons being loaned were either old, defunct or both. Unfortunately is was possessing the weapon that was the problem.

For whatever reason people seemed to let slip that guns and rifles were invented for the sole purpose of killing things efficiently. So not something one could point at someone and act as if they had done nothing to warrant retaliation. For many security officers the act of pointing the rifle at someone or something in itself was equivalent to pulling the trigger. It came down to a simple question, would you rather be getting shot at or doing the shooting? As you’d expect the latter was the more popular choice.

Generally speaking Lux’s views weren't much different. The main difference this time around being that information about the anti-faith faction’s involvement had reached them beforehand, softening both hers and the others’ desire to lay waste to whoever tested them. But even then, if Lux was being honest with herself, the idea of letting someone get away with pointing a barrel her way repulsed her. So much so it became necessary to remind herself of the advantages of staying her finger. One such being the conservation of ammunition for when the actual threat, Quiet Murn, showed up.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

In other news, Lux hadn't been made privy that another sharpshooter would be crewing this convoy and felt a small amount of irritation towards Cade for failing to mention it this morning. She did recognize the irritation was unfounded, not like the engineer could have known save for going around and checking the belts of every security officer for a sharpshooting qualification. You want to talk about a guaranteed way to get shot. Yet Cade always seemed to pull information he shouldn't have access to out of nowhere. No point in overthinking it, everyone had their sources. Including her.

If anything Cade should be the one upset with her for her inability to recall who the other sharpshooter was. In Lux’s defense one didn't acquire a sharpshooting qualification by attending sharpshooting school with other sharpshooters, nor did any of the Federation Academies she was aware of have a sharpshooting club photo day.

The only way to acquire a sharpshooting qualification was by taking a specialized course made available exclusively through recommendation. The course would be held off academy grounds at the closest military institution and be supervised by highly skilled instructors. The not-so-subtle reasoning behind this was to encourage students to enlist in the Council of Mitigation's military branch after completing their 2 year service requirement. Lux's circumstances at the time of her training had been a bit more unique, stemming from the unconventional way by which she received her recommendation. Looking back a few loopholes must have been exploited for her sake, something she’d taken for granted.

Regardless of how she got it, Lux was far more cavalier about flexing her sharpshooting qualification than others. She never tried especially hard to hide it, to the extent it was safe to assume that her name was circulating among crews in the Western and Northern regions. At the very least her moniker had become known, one she'd acquired as per graduation tradition. For emerging top of her class in that session’s security division course. Similar monikers had been bestowed to the top students in the communications and engineering division courses respectively.

Both her and the other two had been subjected to the whole graduation shebang of being called onstage to stand beside one another, cheers ranging from genuine congratulatory remarks to sketchy inside jokes. Safe to say some had enjoyed the pageantry of it all more than others. From what Lux recalled she'd spent the remainder of that day with a few others in the nightlife district at a bar owned by a former graduate. Where in exchange for hanging their recently secured graduation certificate on one of the establishment's walls they could eat and drink as much as they wanted for free.

During moments like these, the so-called calm before the storm, Lux found herself wondering if she'd ever return to the bar and see her certificate again. Not that she wanted it back or anything, just thought it'd be fun to see if anyone she knew had also traded the manifestation of their hard work and achievements in for cold drinks, greasy food and good company for an evening.

Speaking of drinks, food and company...she hoped Belveer had some quality joints along the arcade. As this was to be her first time in New Kantler she couldn't be sure. Well, even if the first place didn’t pan out she’d just go to the next until one hit the mark. Fortunately her usual companions weren't picky. Her machinations were cut short by the unmistakable sight of a raiding party converging on the horizon. A call went out across the convoy in accordance as the mass of riders split into three distinct groupings and readied their approaches.

An easygoing tune escaped Lux's lips as she equipped her rifle and moved into a adaptable position. Her initial zone assignment and current whereabouts being the strong side front deck. A conservative starting position no doubt, meant to ensure both sharpshooters avoided major confrontation until after the rocketeer arrived on scene. Looks like it was time to put that sharpshooting qualification to some use, lest it end up on the wall of some far away drinking estbalishment.

*

"Belveer, this is C326. We have a full-scale approach inbound."

"Copy that C326, logging the visit now. Requesting an id on the approaching force."

"Decals and attire both confirm the raiding party of Quiet Murn."

“Composition?"

Flannery stepped closer to the front window and brought the binoculars to her face. Years of experience allowing her to differentiate between the various roles.

"All three positions appear present and accounted for."

"Copy that C326. You’re advised to stay in touch for as long as the situation allows. Rest assured preparations are underway for your arrival."

"Understood, we’ll relay updates as they become available."

Having watched Flannery notify the station of arrival, Heenan briefly took over communication with the rest of the convoy. Things like handing out provisional orders, reconfirming the desired cruising speed and making small adjustments to the formation. All things that were subject to change whenever their rocketeer decided to show up.

The issue of whether the party would carry out boardings like usual remained inconclusive, as it was still unknown if the either the party or their sponsors were privy to the rocketeer strategy. Naturally boarding a Crusader that may or may not be targeted by rocket fire was a risky move for all involved. One most raiding parties would rather avoid to conserve manpower. Nonetheless, Crusaders had been advised to act under the assumption boardings would be carried out.

In the meantime, defensive zones had been established to combat the use of canisters and sharpshooters had been placed with their preservation in mind. Preparations aside Heenan would now shift his focus to observing the tide of battle. He’d refrain from making any definitive calls or adjustments until after things took shape. A lesson he’d learned through enduring countless raid attempts. A lesson he didn’t plan on suffering through again.

*

Rather than breaking towards the convoy immediately, all three approaches passed alongside the convoy with the intention of circling back around. In the process not a single party member had so much as glanced in their direction, a testament to their discipline. That or they were too fixated on maintaining the critical distance between themselves and the convoy. Critical distance referring to the distance at which the bullets employed by a standard issue feronetic rifle saw a dip in their effective range. In this case around ninety meters. Granted field service veterans often graduated from a standard issue rifle in favor of something that better accounted for their shortcomings as a marksman or alternatively accentuated their strengths.

The tweaks made to Lux's own rifle were surprisingly minute considering her qualification as a sharpshooter. Most of which served the purpose of minimizing her carry weight. These changes helping her operate the rifle as an extension of herself while also increasing mobility. She also wanted to avoid becoming overly attached to a weapon that could be easily lost or damaged during boarding melees.

Four rifles and counting since her first convoy a year ago. Four more over the course of this year and she'd lose a friendly wager with an acquaintance. Lux did not feel great about her odds. In fact, her number from the previous year could’ve been much higher if not for Cade and other crew recovering some of them for her.

Speaking of bets, the group that broke left during the initial approach should be appearing on the weak side right about now. Rather than wait around for the lead bike to come into full view, Lux anticipated the timing and aimed according to the height at which the rider would be in relation to the ground. Just because the raiders had chosen to ignore the convoy during their drive by didn’t mean she’d done the same. Having paid close attention to their height, speed and spacing. Thus it came as no surprise when Lux's first shot managed to embed itself in the lower hip of the raider riding tandem with the lead bike. The wounded party member cried out but just barely managed to remain on the bike.

"Tenth of a second late...damn."

In the moment that followed Lux and her target shared a passing glance. Even at this distance the malice coming from her intended target was palpable. Lux didn't shy away in the slightest and broke into a wide smile. Around her the sounds of gunfire bouncing off bikes, bucklers and the Crusaders themselves. She shouted after the group as it rushed by.

"If you've got a bone to pick, come aboard! I’ll be waiting!"

"Canister, main corridor!"

A voice belonging to Tristler echoed the warning from somewhere behind her. In response Lux searched the platforms for signs of smoke but saw none. She shifted her attention to the other Crusaders to double-check and confirmed there was no smoke on the field.

“Starting with gas then...”

Its area of effect had yet to reach her current position, but Lux retrieved a bandana from one of her pockets and tied it around her face all the same. Might as well minimize the amount of gas she ingested if or when she'd have to rush to the lower levels.

Come to think of it the callout came from the back deck rather than the platform. Meaning Nocks was potentially reliving his misery from earlier. Either way whoever’d thrown the gas canister hadn't been very smart. While true it had a better chance to permeate in a more closed off environment, strategically speaking the gas would have been more debilitating if thrown onto the deck where most verbal communication stemmed from. Additionally it would have given the gas a chance to flow to the lower levels, expanding its reach to both levels of the Crusader rather than just the one.

Whereas now a callout alerting the convoy had been allowed to go out, giving everyone including her ample time to prepare accordingly. Even those who lacked the necessary information and guessed wrong could manage by observing the reactionary measures of their colleagues. Her for example who’d swiftly retrieved a bandana.

But for all Lux knew she could be the one in the wrong despite the visual cues proving otherwise. Not that she'd be entirely screwed since a bandana would be just as effective against smoke. Not that a smoke canister's main purpose revolved around causing coughing fits. It was actually meant to obstruct the approaches of raiders as they began boarding attempts. And since each canister only had so much smoke they often doubled as a signal to begin the approach itself.

Since no call had gone out alerting to an approach and only a single canister had made it onboard, the use of gas was all but confirmed. Funny how much a year on the field could teach you. Lux never would have noticed or pondered such things otherwise. Wait, hit the brakes girl. A year of field service also taught her the dangers of jumping to conclusions. You’ve got time, so reconsider all the facts...

Only one canister had made it onboard. Something felt wrong about that statement. Was Trist mistaken when he made the callout? Certainly multiple canisters had to have been thrown, unless there’d been misses. Had anything so convenient happened among all the convoys she'd crewed? Think back further. They were operating under the assumption that Quiet Murn was employing smoke and gas, but those weren't the only projectiles raiding parties used. Other types of delayed projectiles did exist. But would any of those make sense under this set of circumstances?

“Oh fuck...”

It'd only been a matter of seconds, but the realization had still come too late. Ripping off the bandana, Lux belted their mistake out across the convoy.

"They're tabled stun grenades! Not gas!"

A series of deafening bangs echoed throughout the convoy accompanied by a succession of bright flashes that emanated from the bowels of each Crusader. One security officer onboard C384 had even been in the process of tossing the mislabeled gas canister overboard when it went off, causing him to collapse on the platform.

Grimacing from the assault on her ears, Lux returned her gaze to the weak side just in time to see the group she’d taunted earlier forming up for an approach in force.

"Son of a..."

They hadn't been careful enough...

*

While it was true that Nocks had been brooding on and off since the first visit, he felt the reason for his discontent may be being misconstrued. The others seemed to be under the impression that his being caught so unaware was the main reason, that and the new hole in his calf. But even his calf didn't bother him so much at this point, more of a dull ache from disinfecting it.

Fortunately the barrage of hit and runs since then had done wonders to distract him from it. Though he kept catching himself replaying that first visit over and over again. And after careful recollection of the events that took place, Nocks had a working theory that the gas from earlier, Pipe Down was what Ved had called it, wasn't actually being exploited through the use of canisters. Not during that first visit at least.

The canister they'd recovered had probably contained the gas at one point, but its contents had long been expelled prior to their recovering it. A strategic feint by whoever left the canister on the route. And part of a plan to make the convoy believe the two were related.

The clue that tipped Nocks off had come just prior to being shot. The flagpole. More specifically the direction the flag atop the flagpole had been blowing during the time of the attack. Perpendicular to the convoy. According to new girl and Cade, the convoy had been heading down a steady decline ever since the third checkpoint. A product of the region’s alpine terrain and evident on the routes topographic map. A map he’d scrutinized earlier when he stopped by the bridge. With a little help Nocks had been able to confirm the existence of a much harsher incline to the immediate West of their first run-in with the anti-faith faction. Bringing him to his theory.

Hypothetically speaking Quiet Murn could have chosen to take advantage of the gas's properties, specifically its density, and released it somewhere along that incline. By making use of the terrain and wind direction they could disperse the gas onto the convoy in a clandestine manner.

Meaning Evan and Tristler had unknowingly used the Crusader as an impromptu barrier from the wind and the gas it carried when they’d gotten caught on the weak side platform. The side opposite the incline. Lux’s avoiding of the gas remained a bit of a mystery, however. It confirmed they hadn’t entered a cloud of the gas at least. But timing the gas’s descent, something you could barely see and smell, would’ve been nigh impossible. Maybe it affected people to different extents?

But the fact that the anti-faith faction hadn't been coordinating verbally or crying out during their attack contradicted this. With most the security officers aiming to injure rather than kill there should have been no shortage of wails. But it had been quiet outside of background noise and gunfire. The injured simply couldn't produce any cries with the gas present in the battle space.

Assuming this was all true, admittedly a big if, how might the raiding party pulling the strings exploit the misunderstanding they’d artificially created regarding the gas’s dispersal method?

LCF countermeasures involving the use of canisters called for locating them asap and discarding them overboard, ideally before raiders could capitalize on their effects. This meant briefly handling the canister. But before that it would take the crew a moment to locate where the thrown canister had ended up. Not hard, just follow the billowing smoke cloud. A tactic that wouldn’t carry over to Pipe Down due to its colorless nature. It’s odor being its only identifiable quality. Therefore, it stood to reason that locating this particular type of canister would take the crew longer.

Think Nocks. They must be trying to take advantage of both the delay and discarding method. But how? Were there any projectiles that necessitated evasion in place of immediate handling? If there was, they’d have them dead to rights.

As if the universe decided to test his long-winded theory, Nocks watched as one of the supposed gas canisters bounced through the doorway he happened to be facing and rolled into the corridor. Simultaneously a call rang out from above warning of the gas's deployment. Time ground to a halt as his mind finally conjured the image of a projectile that could meet the criteria with a few choice modifications to its appearance. And it just so happened to resemble the object currently rolling to a standstill in front of him.

Nocks’s training kicked in. Instantaneously shutting both eyes tightly, he covered his ears and threw himself from his place at the junction into the corridor leading to the cargo bay. The nature of the corridor meant his hearing wouldn't make it through unscathed, but that would be inconsequential if his vision remained intact. The detonation of the stun grenade would most definitely serve as the signal for the raiding party to begin its approach, and he’d need to return to the weak side platform at once if he wanted to disrupt their timing and momentum. Something that would prove difficult blind.

As expected the faux gas canister detonated inside the corridor, the volume of which paying little heed to his meagre attempt at covering his ears. Still, covering his ears had saved his hearing considerably. Even if it didn’t feel like it in the moment.

Following detonation, a ringing settled in his ears and his balance proved a bit shaky as he stood, the fluid in his ears disturbed by the blast. Nocks steadied himself against the corridor wall and got his feet back under him, making for the doorway to the weak side platform. Upon reaching it he was met by the surprised expressions of a male and female Volt who'd been among the first to pull within arm’s length of the platform in preparation to board it.

Nocks let loose three shots, two of which struck each Volt in the upper body before return fire from another raider further ahead drove him back into cover behind the doorway. He’d kept track and the first of his shots had been fatal, the second a flesh wound to an extremity and the third deflected by a buckler. With any luck the fatality leading to a now driverless bike would disrupt the approach as it fell away from the Crusader.

Knowing the rest of the boarding party wouldn’t be deterred, Nocks poked his rifle back through the doorway and fired the remaining five shots of his magazine blindly. He thought he could make out more bullets deflecting off a buckler and potentially a pained gasp but his hearing hadn't recovered enough to be reliable.

Pulling a fresh mag and reloading, his eyes drifted in the direction of the adjoining corridor where the ladder was. It would be hubris to think he could fend off the entire boarding party on his own at such a close range. He’d need help that would undoubtably come from the ladder way. But staying put until it arrived wasn’t the play here.

Nocks contemplated falling back to the junction for the time being, except such a move would invite deeper penetration into the lower levels. Putting the engine room at risk. And if they were going to the trouble of boarding under such raid conditions then it was safe to assume they planned destroy the cargo or cripple the Crusader. Probably a case-by-case basis depending on which option proved more manageable or carried less risk.

As he struggled with what decision to make, the unmistakable form of Tristler peeked around the corner and made eye contact with him. He signaled for Nocks to fall back and join him, something he’d be happy to comply with. What with the platform on the brink of being swarmed at any moment. It was as he began to backpedal over that one of his legs abruptly gave way causing him to crash onto to the floor. Right, his calf still had that hole in it. But now of all times!? He felt multiple presences approaching from the platform as Tristler jumped out of cover and made to pull him the rest of the way. The corridor promptly erupted into chaos as bodies began filing into a space intended for no more than two at a time.

But even after his tumble, Nocks didn't panic. Instead he rolled left and took advantage of his low vantage point. Aiming several shots below the protection that a raised buckler would have offered. Unfortunately, the raiders were smart enough to avoid entering all at once as doing so would’ve limited their movement. Therefore all of his shots only struck the Volt who'd taken point. And even then his amalgamation of body armor managed to limit the damage he sustained. Though the kinetic energy from the bullets still caused him to double over.

Another Volt entered and pushed his stunned comrade aside, drawing a pistol more suited for close quarters. It was then Nocks felt a strong grip on the back of his uniform's collar pulling him back and to his feet. Tristler had him by the scruff with one hand while the other leveled the feronetic rifle at the intruders and fired. Shots ricocheted off the walls and floors of the corridor as both sides exchanged gunfire. Nocks and Tristler just barely managing to withdraw back to the cover offered by the junction.

And it was from there that they’d have to hold the line or else allow the boarding party to advance deeper towards the cargo bay. To achieve this both security officers implemented suppression fire tactics, moving in n' out of cover according to their internal reload counters. Whenever one finished reloading they’d tap the current shooter’s hip with the back of their hand to let them know they were ready to move forward.

As Nocks swapped positions with Tristler for the first time he set about assessing their ammo situation simultaneously. Taking into account the collection of visits prior to the current engagement, he will have expended three magazines by the next switch. Not ideal, but it could be worse. In the event he did run out later Nocks had a fair idea who amongst his colleagues would be most close-fisted when it came to ammunition. Along with those who'd he consider to be most flippant. Regrettably over the course of this particular convoy he'd come to fall under the latter.

Just as Nocks reached the final round of his third mag he felt the tap on his right hip and prepared to drop back, but before he could fire the remaining shot the Volts filling the corridor abruptly began backing their way out of the doorway. An arm appeared, stun grenade at the ready, and entered a throwing motion. Tristler cursed and stepped outside cover prematurely in response, to assist Nocks in intercepting the projectile. Through their combined efforts they successfully managed to separate the stun grenade from the raider’s hand. Incidentally the projectile remained intact and the raider cognizant. This resulted in the grenade being kicked down the corridor in advance of its detonation.

Nocks immediately began running through their list of options for minimizing the effects of the blast when a shot from behind them connected with the stun grenade an instant after it left the raider’s foot. The shot prematurely detonated the grenade, enabling both Nocks and Tristler to maintain some semblance of their sensory functions. As the former collected himself for the second time that day, he discerned the source of the unexpected help.

Stood in the entrance of the engine room’s sliding metal door was Yora, shielding his eyes with a pistol in hand. Nocks had a few ideas about how he might’ve circumvented the security check and gotten it onboard but wasn't about to start narking or complaining about what saved them. Yora proceeded to exit the engine room fully and slid the heavy metal door shut, locking it with a special key that was around his neck. He turned towards the two officers.

"I don't know the specifics, but Cade requested I take over piloting."

He rushed down the corridor, taking advantage of the time that the premature detonation afforded the group and paused at the base of the ladder.

"Don't be too impressed, that shot was mostly luck. And with my track record I doubt I have any left in the tank."

He pushed the pistol into Nocks hands and began ascending the ladder.

"Give ’em hell!"

[Yora Vedmann, 28, Engineering Division]

Yora Vedmann, a crew member that Nocks knew very little about on C248. Everything he did know came from secondary sources, only half of which he'd consider reliable. The consensus revolving around him doing hard time for a crime he didn't commit. Rather it had been rumored he took the fall for a younger sister by the name of Imma Vedmann. Upon being released early for good behavior he’d failed to reacquire his old job and been forced to enroll at a Federation Academy.

At the very least his time in prison could be confirmed by the corresponding tattoo occupying his left forearm, a practice most prevalent in the South. Aside from this the man's personal history was muddy at best and no one seemed brave enough to broach the subject. That or the people who were brave enough to ask determined the rest of his story deserved to remain just that, personal.

Nocks's personal hang-up with the story revolved around Vedmann doing his time in the South. Leave it to him to question the sole bit of information with physical proof, but nothing about the man said southern upbringing at all. No matter what way you looked at it guys from the South just weren't intimidating in any way, shape or form. A far cry from their engineer who looked like he could coerce a wall of wet paint into drying faster just by glaring at it. It was the southern girls you had to watch out for. Not in the physical sense, at least not always, more that you had to watch yourself around them. A better way to put it being that southern girls ALWAYS went for the kill. As opposed to normal people who enjoyed moderation.

That being the case, maybe his younger sister really did commit some heinous act he felt the need to cover for. Or maybe she forced him to take the fall in her place. That settled it. If both he and Yora reached Belveer in one piece, he'd ask the man for his life story over drinks. Lean on the liquid courage to get the conversation going. Might even broach the subject of the pistol and its owner.

The sounds of shouting from the weak side platform in conjunction with rifle fire broke Nocks from his revery. He and Tristler promptly repositioned themselves at the junction. Whatever the ruckus going on outside, it seemed to be dissuading the Volts from resuming their storming of the corridor.

"I don't love how long they're congregating on the platform. Think that’s Evan applying pressure from the back deck?"

It was possible, but taking into account everyone’s zone assignments that was a lot of area to cover for one deck officer. Even one of Evan’s caliber. Perhaps that was the reason Cade called on Yora to assume the pilot role, so he could make himself available for potential adjustments to the defensive strategy.

"I say we leave it to the girls upstairs for now. Can’t afford to leave the junction undefended, more so now that the engine rooms empty. If it does come to sending someone up it'll have to be you."

"You're probably right. We managed the gas blunder, but who knows what's next. Might as well stay put and see about keeping the platform clear. Dissuade the next boarding attempt."

Their walking vice proceeded to use their brief respite as a means to light up again, in record time at that. He let out a long exhale. In a rare occurrence Nocks didn’t really mind the secondhand smoke.

"You think Yora’s really from the South?"

Nocks dropped into a crouch to ease some of the weight off his calf before responding.

"I've actually got some a few thoughts about that, lend me what's left of that ear."