January 2nd, 8253
“Alright Crew. Secure from Active Standby stations and move to Warp Jump stations. I say again, move to Warp Jump stations. We are warp jumping out of this system.”
January 5th, 8253
The same sort of energy flux as you saw warp jumping into the Gayle system pops up on the sensors. As before SWO Fish rolls and angles the Night Horse in an attempt to generate a miss or deflection. Unlike last time it fails. There is a mighty crash, the light flicker for a moment, and the alarm klaxons wail briefly. You bring up the damage control display and note that a compartment is bleeding air. The bulkheads have already slammed shut to mitigate the atmosphere loss and Midshipman Huckle is already rallying up a work crew to patch the hole as soon as it is safe to do so. Looking over the damage vector you heave a huge sigh of relief. The depressurized compartment is the extended supply vaults. The energy flux missed the hydrogen storage bunkers by ten meters or less, and in doing so missed ripping the guts of the Night Horse wide open.
“Take your time Midshipman Huckle. The consumables are probably already a write off from depressurization.”
“Aye aye sir. We lost an egghead and seven crew automatons out the hole in the side Sir.”
“Understood engineering. Let's not lose any more by rushing. Supply, we just lost the contents of the extended vaults to depressurization. Where does that leave us in terms of consumables?”
“At standard rate of consumption we'll run dry on February 12th Sir. We'll have enough to get home with a bit to spare.”
“Understood Supply. Thank you.”
January 6th, 8253
Midshipman Huckle reports that the extended supply vaults have pressure again. It's scant comfort knowing only half of your ship's supplies were blown away by a single freak accident.
January 8th, 8253
You set up the Night Horse's inaugural shooting competition in an attempt to alleviate boredom and perhaps raise morale. To make it fair you declare it a pistol only competition (Midshipman Huckle being the only rifleman aboard) with the simplest scoring system. Each person gets ten shots at their own pace, maximum of five minutes total, and the two best scorers go head to head in a three round 'championship' round. No points for missing the target, then one point per ring inside of it: the outer most ring is one, then two, three, and so on until the inner bullseye is worth ten. Everyone is rusty so you expect the scores to be equally bad.
“Right, to make it fair we'll let the computer randomize the shooting order. Let me just bring up the name drawing app on my tablet here and... I guess I'm up first. Time to see if this scrap hull plate holds up to the standard issue Surveyor's Corps plasma pistol.”
“It held up just fine to crashing into a planet Sir. I think it can take a few dinky sidearm hits.”
You step to the line, confirm the range is clear, arm your pistol and begin deliberate aimed fire. Your first shot scores four points, then five, two more on your third shot. You end your attempt with three misses, only one of which was on the 'miss' section of the target, and a total score of twenty five points.
“Three fliers? Rough run there Sir.”
“I'd say seven in ten isn't bad work considering the last time I pulled a trigger was my last qualification shoot. Good work building this thing Engineering. That back stop held up just fine. Right, next up is... Midshipman Engel! Let's see what the good old M8211 can do.”
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You walk clear of the firing line and back to the safe distance marker. Midshipman Engel steps forward, chambers a round, and swaps to a fresh magazine.
“loading hot Supply?”
“Only so I have ten to go without a reload in the middle jar head. Not something you need to worry about I'd expect.”
“Wait, did they really adopt an auto loaded not even nine years after standardizing all the services on a revolver?”
Midshipman Engel ignores the question and steadies his aim. Midshipman Huckle shrugs the question off.
“For a while. I'll tell you after his string.”
Midshipman Engel takes a two handed grip and a stance right out of a textbook, lets out a breath, and opens fire. He shows his inexperience by going to rapid fire. In the end he puts only three rounds on the target for a total of ten points.
“Oof that's rough. Yeah, the Navy, Army, Royal marines, and their related formations all settled on the M8211 for a time. Browning Inc. cut them one hell of a deal and probably greased a few palms, to make it happen. The Royal Marines swapped off of it back in 8233 when they went to an all energy weapon lineup to capitalize on interchangeable power packs. For most weapons anyway. The Navy followed suit a year or two later for senior officers by going to a plasma pistol and the Surveyor's Corps did the same the next year. The Army is still sticking with it though I couldn't tell you why.”
Midshipman Engel wanders back over with his weapon locked open on empty.
“I have a guess why. Seven hundred thousand reasons actually. That's how many units they would need to buy just to replace all of the M8211s in service. Plus spares, parts, and replacements down the line... they are probably looking at a million units up front. Hell the Surveyor's Corps is still issuing old stock, so long as it takes the M8211's cartridge, just to use it up and save a few credits. I got assigned a bull dog revolver for being in a 'rear echelon' position, but a good M2811 wasn't that expensive so I bought my own. Who's up next Sir?
“Tablet says... Midshipman Huckle.”
“Right, let's see if my practice has paid any dividends. Lancaster mark five don't fail me now!”
The snap-CRACK sound of ionizing air fills the area. Ten shots later and Midshipman Huckle has racked up five hits and only ten points.
“Five fliers! Bit of a rough string eh?”
“I can't argue with that Sir. Guess I need more practice.”
“That leaves CWO Fish. Take the line when you are ready.”
“Time for the old reliable single action Navy to show what she can do with big, slow, and heavy. Five minutes maximum for ten rounds. Does that include reload time?”
“It would disadvantage half of us, so I'll say no. Fire when ready CWO.”
CWO Fish lets out a grin, takes a two handed stance, and takes her sweet time aiming and firing. Five rounds in and she brings her revolver up and methodically reloads it before resuming fire at the same methodical pace. Not counting the reload it takes her almost four minuets to fire all ten of her shots, the thunder stroke sound of each echoing in the cargo hold. Even so she manages only five hits on target and sixteen points.
“Not my best shooting but good enough to make it to the finals. After you sir.”
“I'll give the vents a moment to clear the smoke if you don't mind.”
“Not at all. Probably need to let you ears stop ringing too.”
You laugh it off and decide to take a page out of the CWO's book and take your sweet time aiming each of your three shots. The first shot scores five points but the second and third manage to miss. Not by much, but a miss is a miss.
“Well shit. Looks like I need more practice. Your turn CWO.”
CWO Fish Steps to the line, reloads her revolver and takes aim. Her first round misses, the second round scores five points to tie your score, and the third just barely misses the outer ring.
“Damn. What now?”
“Sudden death I guess. One round each until there is a winner. Take yours CWO.”
“Right, here goes.”
CWO Fish lets out a breath, aims, and puts her round into the target for four points.
“Beat that Sir!”
“Let's see if I can.”
You change places with CWO Fish take a breath, take your aim, and squeeze the firing stud. The result is a hit... and a single point.”
“And CWO Fish takes the first Night Horse pistol championship! Bragging right are hers for now. The next championship will be held on the next warp jump.”
January 9th, 8253
It's been forty five days since you and the Night Horse have seen the Clouwell system. Despite your report, or perhaps inspired by it, the construction ship SES Ronald Cole is hard at work setting up an array of Watchpost class navigational beacons. You exchange greetings and warp jump navigation data in passing and set course for a Warp jump to the Sonwatch system.
January 19th, 8253
The warp jump to Sonwatch goes off without a hitch. Midshipman Huckle wins the second championship by a single point. With a little under a month of supplies left, and the Night Horse's hydrogen fuel reserves recently topped up you opt to proceed directly back to Celesmore. The SES Ann Kassandra blinks its running lights, and it's Ministry of Interstellar Diplomacy and Communications registered IFF, at you in passing.
January 24th, 8253
The trip back to the Celesmore system also passes without issue. Midshipman Engel overcomes his propensity for 'suppressive fire' and manages to take the third pistol competition. You and your crew have also been practicing your close combat skills in the sparing ring in preparation for recertification there as well. Arrival messages are exchanged, a docking berth is arranged, and a Navy mobile repair barge is scheduled to wander over to check on the hull patch. For all of the surprises and complications you third deployment has come to a successful conclusion.