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Chapter 1.5 - Welcome to the Caravel - Part 2
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The last week of my life has been aggressively busy. As a fully-fledged member of the Caravel's crew, there was no mercy given on account of being new. Now an apprentice to Chief Mechanic Gros, I've been pressed into doing all sorts of jobs, from oiling each minute joint on the damaged Type-C, to counting the small bolts out from the large and, of course, painting.
See, unlike the Crusade, the official name of Templar's knightly mech, the Type-C – the only surviving machine from my first warship home – is less pristine. Alongside its crumpled legs and other damage from the battle, it is painted a hot-pink colour that really doesn't match well with the Crusade. With this in mind, I was tasked with painting it white and silver with the odd remaining pink highlight.
I've checked thoroughly, and this colour scheme is nowhere in the official liveries for the Type-C model, but no one seems to care about that. In general, the Caravel is a ship where the rules don't quite apply as normal.
When I'm not busy doing an absurd amount of busywork, I spend my time in the other areas of the ship, eating with everyone in the kitchen, sleeping in the barracks, or at the gym.
In just a week, I could tell you the first names of about a third of the crew. That's pretty irregular. On the battleship, I knew the names of my fellow unit members, and that was it. The Caravel, however, is a very small ship. Its entire crew is only fifty-six people, and to my knowledge, it is the smallest-tonnage warship in the whole Remembrance Navy!
Since my initial tour, I’ve gotten a better feel for the shape and various rooms of the ship. I still feel that from afar, the vessel looks a bit like a boot. The toe area contains our modest hangar bay (where I spend most of my time labouring) that can hold two mechs. Where the laces would be atop a shoe is the ship's main cannon, an oversized double-barrelled beast repurposed from an old sunken cruiser.
Beneath this, in the ship's most guarded centre, is the generator. It is pretty large for such a small vessel, you have to take all these narrow corridors to get around it. I haven't spent much time with the generator itself, nor do I plan too, it's not my primary area of expertise anyway, but from what I've seen, it has to be kept in pristine condition.
On a warship like this, speed is everything, so keeping the generator ready for maximum output at all times is a top priority.
Behind, in the heel of the boot, if you will, is the 'living area', consisting of the barracks and the gym. Artificial gravity is used very sparingly – Instead, we have simple cubicles for sleeping in, with a bit of storage but not much privacy. Nothing beats your own room or an actual bed, but the cadet housing on Remembrance was even worse, so honestly, I’m finding this much better.
The gym is mandatory, even with such a tiny crew. After all, being without gravity all day can severely affect you if you don't get ample exercise. Everyone uses the same gym facilities, meaning sometimes I see Templar in the gym! He really does have the physique you imagine a knight to, absolutely ripped with muscle. Ahem, ‘course being a pilot, he needs to be in shape, ya know?
As you rise up the boot shape, on the second level, you have the kitchen, which is large enough for about half the entire crew to be in at once. There is a massive food and water storage unit in a room next to it. Without gravity, the meals we get are limited, and moreover, the effects on your sense of smell weaken the taste, so they aren't the most inspired. Still, I’m pretty sure the chef tries thier best!
Finally, on the top floor, where the lip of this hypothetical shoe would be, is the ship's bridge. It’s one place I've never had any reason to visit, and aside from the Captain, I haven't met many of the people who work up there yet, except for Sue, who doesn’t really descend to the first floor that often. That said, there is also a large meeting room where the entire crew is sometimes summoned, called an 'all-hands' meeting – where the Captain and Templar inform us of the next mission – right now, for example, we're simply patrolling a supply line, keeping an eye on civilian transports bringing in supplies for the greater war effort.
According to Shane, the Caravel always returns to guarding supply lines between missions, as it's a somewhat bland job that can easily lead to all sorts of more exciting events. Personally, I think protecting these defenceless convoys is a very knightley thing to do, so I'm all for it!
That's another thing wildly different about here – The whole crew has this real sense of community. We eat together, sleep in one barracks, use the same gym, and all know pretty much the same amount about the ship's current mission. Before, I was just a grunt, told the bare minimum context I needed to do my job. I guess I'm still just a grunt here, but I certainly feel more included this last week than I ever did on that battleship or in training. It's a nice feeling, even if I'm being worked ragged with busy work by Chief Gros.
At the end of my first week, ten whole days aboard the ship I'd joined so suddenly, I find myself heading to the kitchen for dinner. Spotting my fellow mechanics and Birgit (who mostly hangs around with us) I walk over to the little group and lay down my tray, “Ah, so what’s the topic?” I say rather weakly.
“Keep it to yourself, alright? But Johnny has been hacking again! Got something special too–”
I nod along to the mechanic's explanation. Admittedly, I didn’t yet know Johnny could ‘hack’ or what exactly she had been hacking into, but I’m still learning the ins and outs of everyone, so that’s probably fine.
“--She got this footage of a Seeker squad in action! You’re probably the last one to see it, Kris,” the excited mechanic finishes.
I turn my attention to the digital tablet playing the video in question. The assembled group is taking great enjoyment out of guessing which side will win, except for one. Mr Shane is sitting closest to the screen, a very thoughtful look on his face.
Over the last week, he’s been the person I get on with the most. He’s a mechanic of about ten years, somewhere in his thirties, although he has a kind of young-looking face, always clean-shaven with short black hair. I haven’t yet mustered the courage to ask why he always has a sword on his belt, but I’d say he’s the person I’ve grown most fond of so far. Today, his boyish face is positively entranced by the video before us.
The ‘Seekers’ or by their official name the ‘Basmacy-Divsion’ (although no one I know calls them that) are one of our enemies. An elite section of The States Union military, generally operating small groups of mecha that partake in surprise attacks and other underhanded tactics. The group in the video are piloting a mech I recognise as the Mleue, this blue, almost avian-looking machine with wing-like arms and narrow, pointed heads.
They are out in the cold vacuum of space, fighting against a bunch of ‘Neo-M’. Five fighting and, at a rough count, another five torn to pieces. The Neo is a machine used by another splinter group called IAFS. It usually comes in shades of cyan and looks somewhat humanoid even by Vijiak standards. Their organisation was recently wiped out so either these are some stranglers, or the footage is slightly old.
The five Mleue are in this circular formation, literally head to tail, circling above the surviving Neos. One of them swoops in, firing its rifle like a bird brandishing its claws. Then it goes back up to the circle formation while another takes its place. It's a tactic I can only presume inspired by their mech’s design, like birds of prey dive-bombing their pitiful targets below over and over again.
The Neos are pinned, holding up their long shields desperately in defence. It's honestly facinating to me that you even can 'pin' mechs in the directionlessness of space, but its clear these Neo's have to keep this formation to weather the storm of energy blast.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
One of the five suddenly breaks forward, waving its rifle desperately as it charges forth, its thrusters all glowing blue as it cuts a faint line across the empty space. In an instant and without hesitation, the Mleue change their formation, the circling stops, and three stand stock-still blasting their weapons in a heavy barrage on the remaining stationary Neos. Meanwhile, the other two rush forward to meet the charging Neo.
The encounter is over in seconds: One Mleue approaches from the front while its partner comes up behind, both draw glowing swords from the waist. They ram these blades through the poor Neo, all while easily dodging its hapless rifle fire. Once the humanoid mech stops its painful writhing and falls limp, the two Seekers retract their weapons and carelessly push aside their slain foe.
A couple moments later, all five seekers retake their circular formation, lording above the survivors. The charging Neo is now little more than a gouged-out corpse, while the others, far too slow to take advantage of their friend's sacrifice, still remain pinned down.
Shane whistles lightly, “That's some insane teamwork. They change formations ridiculously fast, and not one is out of line for even a moment. That level of professionalism and acute control of their machines really is something else.”
From my place, watching over his shoulder, I simply shrug, “I mean, surely those Neo types are just really bad. How else could they get killed so easily?”
Still not taking his eyes from the screen, Shane replies in a patient elder brother tone of voice, “Not at all, Kris. True, those Neos clearly lack leadership, but being overwhelmed is entirely understandable under such a constant rain of fire. Could you keep calm under a continuous hail of lasers? Every shot potentially being what kills you if you so much as make one wrong step?
That's the beauty of the Seeker’s tactics; only one of them is shooting at any given time, preventing them from running out of energy too fast, but so in sync that the enemy is constantly under pressure, imposing and almost without any openings for counter-attacks to break through.”
“Ha, don’t mind Shane, new kid, he gets like this around mecha fighting,” one of the other mechanics says at my side, but now I’m even more interested. I lean in closer, watching the now just four Neos continue to be pelted by the bright orange energy blasts that light up the sky; “Ok, but why not stand still and keep shielding until the enemy uses up all its power. It might take a while and look kind of pathetic, but it is better than dying, right?
Shane is about to answer when suddenly, the footage does so for him. One Neo’s shield suddenly fails, blackened and bent by such prolonged fire, it finally snaps clean in two. The next flurry of yellow fire from the Seekers strikes the Neo square in the chest, causing the mech to convulse backwards. A moment later, the whole machine bursts into this incredible ball of white light. The video is somewhat grainy, but even I can tell it must be an astonishing explosion to see up close.
“Tch, that was their chance,” Shane says sadly.
“Chance for what?” I reply.
“To gain some ground. However good the Seekers are, they are just human pilots. They can’t see through the light of an exploding Vijiak any better than we can. The three Neos that are left should have charged through it. That's pretty much the only way to break a Seeker formation, surprise them in some fashion and close the distance. Instead, they just stayed still, watching their friend explode. It’s understandable but no doubt fatal,” Shane explains calmly, and he isn’t wrong.
The final few IAFS mechs are soon wiped out, while, as far as I could tell, the Seeker squad has still yet to lose even one member. It's kind of hard for me to quite get why this was so impressive – The Seeker's intricate formations and disciplined teamwork go over my head a bit, I guess, but everyone around me seems far more impressed: “Two Neos for every Mleue, and they still win with no casualties, damn those Seekers are scumbags.”
“You can say that again, Sean. That circular formation thing they do is just plain mean.”
“What’cha reckon, Davy, they had to be B rank, if not A, right?”
Ranks, pilots and mechs both have them. Some people live to up their ranks, while others say they are useless and can’t possibly measure something as unpredictable as combat. Whatever the case, hearing the Seekers praised so highly did bring a question to my mind, one perhaps a little spurred by the disquieting scene of watching those Neos get so easily routed.
“So errr, would A ranks like them be able to hurt Master Templar?”
There is a pause, and then laughter erupts around the narrow confines of the kitchen – “Pfttttt, good one!”
“Ya right, like Master Templar would even break a sweat!”
I blush, feeling positively stupid for asking. However, Shane doesn't laugh but instead offers a more helpful response, “Master Templar is a little different to your average pilot, Kris. The Crusade has far more resilient equipment than a Neo, and in terms of rank, well, Templar is 2nd placed among the Five Great Aces. He’s so skilled he stands above any conventional ranking scheme, even A ranked. As one of his mechanics now, you’ll want to grow your frame of reference for just how above a simple Mleue or Neo Master Templar is. Oh, but don’t feel too bad; you’ll learn soon enough, don’t you worry,” he finishes with an awfully wry smile.
It wasn’t the first time I’d said something everyone found preposterous over this last week, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. In fact, it wouldn’t be for another week that I would learn just how true Shane’s words were…
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Eventually, the buzz around the battle footage died down, and I found myself thinking over it and about how my new career aboard this ship is working out after one week. Everyone else had filed out ahead of me. You could say I have this bad habit of daydreaming… Just as I was about to tidy my stuff away and get going, a familiar voice called out to me; “Jezz kid, how long are you gonna be here?”
“Ah, sorry, Mr. Richard, I was just lost in thought...” I murmur back, a little embarrassed, but as I turn to face the voice, I realise it is not the ship's janitor but rather my fellow 'one-weeker', the junior pilot Birgit.
“Heh, you must really be sleepy to mix me up with that old man. That's like ageing me up thirty? Forty years? That's cold Kris, real cold,” Birgit laughs. As the ship's newest recruits, we spend a fair bit of time together; our bunks are next to each other, and our schedules are reasonably compatible. Despite that, I wouldn't say Birgit has become a friend just yet.
His voice and mannerism are shrewd, and his attitude is kinda lazy. Not the sort of person you imagine a pilot to be, especially not compared to Templar.
I start tidying my stuff away, offering little more than a half-hearted smile to Birgit’s repeated attempts at friendly banter when suddenly his tone becomes a little more serious, “Say kid, you sure you're ok like? All that daydreaming you do, you're not, ya know, reliving it, are ya?”
I turn in genuine surprise, “Reliving what?”
“Huh? Last week! Staring down the barrel of a mech’s rifle! Our entire battleship getting gutted from the inside out, and with us on it. Anyone would be scared. Heck, you didn't even have the protection of a mech, just your space suit against a superheated energy rifle.”
I stop and earnestly think about this for a moment. It’s a fair question, but it kind of hadn't crossed my mind much. Perhaps I'd been kept too busy? Or am I really not shaken by that event at all?
My mind frequently goes back to that day. I near constantly dream of it, of the Crusade wielding its mighty lance, of Templar crushing the entire enemy squad single-handed.
“Are you still scared by it?” I ask after a bit of thought.
Birgit shoots me a funny look, “What? Well of course I am! The only survivor of the squad on my first ever sortie, getting absolutely creamed, moments from death. Any of this ringing any bells?”
I shrug without thinking, “I mean, that doesn't sound like a pilot's reaction,” I knew even as I said it that it was cruel. I couldn't help but wonder, as I watched Brigid's awkward face transition into a scowl, why I had said something like that.
“Huh, real nice jackass. Fine, you be like that. I just thought, what with us both being survivors of then, we should look out for each other, have one another's back. But if that's how you feel, well, fine. I know where I stand then, and I know just how weird you are now.
Goodnight, Kris.” With his rant delivered, he wastes no time leaving the room.
I for my part don’t even try to call out or apologise. I feel almost frozen by my own curtness. Sure, it annoyed me a little that Birgit was so clearly projecting his own feelings onto me, but that's no reason to snap at him like that, is it; ‘He called me a ‘Jackass’ huh, ya that fits.’
Was this all a mistake? Joining an elite unit’s ship just ‘cause I saw one 'heroic' pilot? Should I be feeling scared like Birigit is, having nightmares about last week?
Surely I had to be wrong for judging Birgit so harshly – and yet all I can be sure of was that I don't regret joining this ship – that I'd happily be in danger, be an asshole, work stupid long hours on menial jobs in tight corridors on minimum wages – if it means supporting, getting to stand just a step closer to Templar.
Perhaps Birgit is right. Perhaps there is something wrong with me...
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