Author Topic: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)  (Read 7606 times)

Sharpnel

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #150 on: 27 June 2018, 07:37:34 »
I can actually see Tormano as the particular Cylon (Spectre/Sceptre) from the original BSG.
Commander Jean-Charles Romini, ARC-4A Archer, The Four Aces
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DOC_Agren

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #151 on: 27 June 2018, 20:03:45 »
Candace well done, they never saw it come  :thumbsup:
"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!"

Blacknova

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #152 on: 27 June 2018, 21:41:17 »
That was one of my favorite chapters to write
Dedicated to committing viciously gratuitous bastardy of the first order.

You know there is something wrong with the FWL, when Word's spell check changes Impavido to Impetigo and Zechetinu to Secretion.

Sharpnel

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #153 on: 28 June 2018, 01:32:53 »
If only Stackpole had written that during the Trilogy featuring Justin Xiang Allard.
Commander Jean-Charles Romini, ARC-4A Archer, The Four Aces
Tai-i Shizuko Lofgren, Third Infantry Company, Oniwaka

Lionel 'Swede' Sandstrøm, ZEU-6S Zeus 'Swede' Crimson Oasis Trading Company

"Of what use is a dream, if not a blueprint for courageous action" -Adam West
It's an Omni, so I can build it into whatever I please - JHB
"Life is too short to be living someone else's dream" - Hugh Hefner

Blacknova

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #154 on: 02 July 2018, 04:45:58 »
Chapter 38

Taurian Government Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
16 August, 3024.


Protector Thomas Calderon enjoyed the feel of the warm afternoon sun on his back as he strolled along the white gravelled path.  The setting was idyllic, with paths meandering through a naturally sculpted garden full of babbling brooks, quite corners, and chattering birds.  Unfortunately, today was not the day to enjoy the peaceful gardens, today was a day for business, business with ComStar.  Precentor Martel Gordon, the man in charge of ComStar activities on Taurus and within the Concordat at large, walked at the Protector’s right, enjoying the garden as much as his host.  Both men had spent many hours here, discussing all manner of subjects as, in addition to being men of power, both had developed a friendly relationship over time.  However, this did not mean the Protector of the Concordat trusted his amicable companion; the man had once been a ROM officer and was likely still part of that shadow organisation.  Should push come to shove, Thomas was sure the man could cause all sorts of trouble.

“The conversation has been pleasant so far Martel, but I hardly think you came here to discuss the chances of the Taurian Bulls against the Coventry Cavaliers in Saturday’s preliminary final, much as I will be glued to your organisation’s reports of the match.  I am sure you have more urgent matters?  I know I have many to deal with, especially with the integration of the colonies still underway.”  Thomas referred to the campaign, still in progress, to bring order to the mad colonisation scheme that his predecessor had started.  Those half-baked colonists, still claiming Taurian citizenship, had flung themselves far and wide.  Suddenly, like flies to rotting meat, pirates had started to prey on the colonists and then on the bigger prize of the Concordat itself.  The only way to bring order was to take the colonists freedom and crush any pirates that attacked the newly won and garrisoned worlds of the Concordat. 

Normally, he would not have sent so many military resources away from the Davion border, those troops were the Taurian insurance policy, but in this instance, as his advisors had pointed out, the new colonies would give the Concordat strategic depth against Hanse Davion’s inevitable assault, something the Taurians desperately needed.

Martel, his long arms behind his back, mimicking the Protector’s stance, got to the point. “No, I have not come here to discuss sports; I have a matter of mutual interest to discuss.”

Mutual from ComStar? Hardly. Thought the Protector.  “What is this mutual interest Martel?  Invest in ComStar, attack a few Pirates?”

Martel smiled; something he rarely did.  “An opportunity for certain historic territories to be returned to their homelands.”

The Protector’s heart missed a beat. What is going on here? Davion can’t be that weak? The Confederation holds only Rollis and any others are half abandoned worlds.  He fenced. “Would these territories have been formerly considered part of the Periphery?’

Martel seemed lost in the study of a hummingbird that was flitting about near the path and answered in a vague voice.  “Perhaps.  Then all worlds at some point have been part of the Periphery.  Of course, these worlds are of a more recent vintage, if, that is, you consider Darlan Okumbe of recent vintage.”

Okumbe, hah!  Okumbe was the finest Taurian sculptor of the 26th Century, his masterpieces adorning many of the grandest buildings of the Concordat.  “The Concordat is always willing to support the desires for freedom or repatriation of any realm’s lost sons, we do not however, throw ourselves lightly upon such endeavours.  There’s an understatement.  The TDF could, in no way imaginable, hope to take worlds away from the Federated Suns.

Martel managed to tear himself away from the hummingbird for a moment to look at the Protector.  “ComStar has long respected the Taurian view of the universe and would never desire to bring harm upon the realm.  We would however, urge the Taurian people to be ready to take advantage of opportunities as they arise.”

The Protector held his tongue for a moment as they walked along, thinking hard. So, the rumours my people bring me about the Capellans is true, and that means the other rumours of this triple alliance must also be true.  Could ComStar be so transparent?  Perhaps this grand attack on the Suns is what my people need to reclaim those many worlds lost so long ago?  Still, no need to tip my hand yet.  Let us see how important this really is to ComStar. 

“You must understand Martel, that the governing of a realm so vast and sparsely settled as the Concordat, has certain challenges attending its proper government.  Communications for one.  Many units are tied up in the colonies, and without adequate communication, I find myself thinking only of the difficulties inherent in the actions required for the rapid exploitation of the vagaries of interstellar chance. I see no way to rapidly communicate with the people I would require to, should such action be ever contemplated.”

Martel made a slight bow of his head as he answered. “My dear Protector, the Primus had thought just such problems may arise.  She has also stated, to me personally, her distress at the deplorable state of interstellar communications in the major Periphery realms.  She believes deeply in our Order’s role in bringing illumination to the furthest reaches of space and would support any Taurian endeavours to assist in making such noble sentiments real.”

So, ComStar is willing to build me as many HPG’s as I need.  Faster communications means better logistics and military coordination.  Trade will increase and I can integrate the outer colonies faster, getting the troops back to the Davion border sooner than anticipated.  The danger is still great, but the opportunities.  Davion humbled and our realm restored.  I will be remembered as the Protector who brought the Concordat out of the dark ages. Time to put a caveat on this little deal.

“The Concordat would be eternally grateful to the Primus’s vision and the Office of the Protector can provide details as to where illumination could best be sought.  However, the Concordat cannot and will not promise to run after shadows and half chances.  We are not a rash people and therefore will require an unequivocal sign that fate has smiled, or we shall stay on our worlds and let the fates be dammed.”

Martel stopped, and faced the Protector. “The signs will be unequivocal, of that you can be sure.”
Dedicated to committing viciously gratuitous bastardy of the first order.

You know there is something wrong with the FWL, when Word's spell check changes Impavido to Impetigo and Zechetinu to Secretion.

mikecj

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #155 on: 02 July 2018, 07:28:31 »
Fate goeth before a fall...
There are no fish in my pond.
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Wrangler

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #156 on: 02 July 2018, 08:50:16 »
It could be Fed Fall at this rate.

ComStar could pull the plug on HPG net inside Lyran space and Fed Space to finish everything off.
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DOC_Agren

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #157 on: 02 July 2018, 12:58:22 »
It could be Fed Fall at this rate.

ComStar could pull the plug on HPG net inside Lyran space and Fed Space to finish everything off.
They could...you know just have accident that happen to cut all important messages but then again under Primus Myndo Waterly, so she might try an early form of Operation Scorpion limited to Lyran and Fed Space.  Of course those are in the control First Circuit members who might not be helpful, and what will Precentor Martial Hamilton have to say about it
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Blacknova

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #158 on: 07 July 2018, 22:16:04 »
Chapter 39

Laverack Barracks, Townsville District, Australia,
Coventry Province, Lyran Commonwealth,
19 September, 3024.


The officer stood waiting for the passenger airlock of the DropShip to open onto his exile.  By looking at the man, you would not think he was going into exile, he was turned out immaculately.  His Lyran dress uniform was more resplendent than a Versailles wedding and almost as gaudy.  Decoration and brocade streamed from his dark blue, high collard jacket and the creases in his white stirrup, blue stripped dark pants, looked as though they had been pressed by the foot of a Mech.  To add to the overall effect, was the supremely haughty and contemptuous look, no doubt honed be years of practice, which hammered any crewman who had the poor graces to enter the officer’s line of view.

The man stood as still as a mountain and appeared as immoveable, radiating an air of such contempt and hate, that it seemed likely that the airlock would melt from the force.  Exile. He thought. I do not deserve this. I have been wronged. Despite what he thought about the situation, the young officer, at least according to the Lyran military elite, did deserve his punishment, he deserved his exile and so much more.  He was now The Liaison Officer. The title in itself seemed so innocuous, yet within the circle of Lyran officers, the position was known as the end of careers, the place no one spoke of, a dark and final exile.

Two months ago, the young officer, not yet twenty seven and already a Hauptmann-Kommandant, had been attending a social occasion on Duran, at the behest of the world’s Duke.  A young woman, seeming to be of backwoods ancestry and no match for his own proud line, had been most persistent in her advances toward the dashing officer from the 6th Lyran Guards.  However, following several stiff drinks and what seemed like hours of pestering by the young lady, the officer was forced, in a way which could never be considered kind or gentlemanly, to tell the young woman exactly what he thought of her, in order to be rid of her and have the chance to talk to far more promising social connections at the function.  That was his first mistake.

Twenty minutes later, Kommandant-General Sharon Hellman, commander of the LCAF’s Reserve Corps, had the young officer up against the wall enduring the chewing out of his career.  The General’s daughter, heiress to the Hellman fortune, was a wreck, distraught at the rough handling the young officer had given her. 

His excuse was his second mistake.  Telling the General that he thought her daughter was nothing more than backwoods hickery and that if he had known she was of decent stock he would never had treated her in such a way, only served to make the situation worse.  The General had made it clear, he would serve as The Liaison Officer for his offence, she would see to it.  The General had been as good as her word.  Banished from the 6th and demoted to Hauptmann, the traditional rank of The Liaison Officer, the young man was now on Australia.  Hell on earth for Lyran Officers.

The young man went over the limited briefing material in his mind.  Australia, settled 2301 by colonists from the Terran Australia continent and the South Pacific Islands.  Declined initial membership into the Commonwealth in 2341, but became and ‘associate member’ in 2365. Resisted, along with 20 other strong worlds, the efforts of Archon Robert Marsden, but capitulated as long as their associate status remained and with it certain privileges for the world. This fact kept the world off the official maps of the Commonwealth until the founding of the Star League forced the world to become a full member of the Commonwealth. Due to the privileges accorded the world, it was shunned by the Lyran nobility, due to not only the advantages it enjoyed but also its representatives and nobles constant complaining about Tharkad’s ineptitude in nearly all fields, and their complete lack of regard for proper noble behaviour.  Outright bribery on the part of the locals, due to their natural resources and productive industry, as well as their strong military forces, saw one of the Lyran stock exchanges placed on the world.

It was the world’s military which was the real problem however, having a well-developed sense of contempt for anything Lyran.  The young officer could not understand it. The world was given an honoured position in the Commonwealth and the soldiers of the planet were given the distinction of serving in the LCAF, however, they seemed to treat the LCAF, and the Commonwealth as a whole, as a burden to be sneered at and derided.  The legendary unruliness of the soldiers from this world and their habit of disregarding commands from LCAF officers, often without even reading them, had seen the LCAF officer Corps establish the position of The Liaison Officer.

This was the place for the socially disgraced to be sent, where they could be forgotten and left in the hell which every Lyran officer dreaded.  It was bad enough when The Liaison Officer only had to work with the local militia brigades, who had the audacity to decline their official Lyran titles and call themselves by their own names and designations.  Just who did they think they were?  Australian Light Horse!  What a joke.  However, the position the young officer had been exiled to was now an even more painful position.  The previous year, the worst offenders in the militia, along with insubordinate, ex-LCAF Australian MechWarriors, had formed a mercenary command called the Blacknovas.  Now he was liaison to both.  Suicide seemed a good option at this point.  Many had used it before. He could see why.

As he waited away the interminable minutes, wishing to leave this DropShip full of idiots, but dreading the mass of fools awaiting him, he did not move a muscle.  He would remain a Lyran officer to the bitter end if needs be.  “Oi.” Shouted a voice. “I’d wait for the transport if I were you.”  A scruffy looking crewman yelled across the room as he entered.

He merely stared at the man with the same look of contempt he had given the airlock. “It’s 38 degrees out there straight up. Probably half again that with the tarmac and engine heat.  Best wait inside mate, unless you want end up in the wards with heat exhaustion.”

He looked away from the man back to the airlock.  Crewmen who did not salute or address their betters correctly, did not deserve either response or acknowledgement.  “Suit yourself Peacock!” the crewman said as he punched the button that cycled the lock open.  The young officer began walking out of the DropShip, ignoring the verbal barb and moving out into the open, with the DropShips cool air surrounding him.  Then it him.

The air was like a wall of heat, more intense than when his Zeus had nearly shut down on Carse.  It was physical, and it was not just the heat.  The world’s sun was reflecting off the white tarmac like the flash of a nuclear detonation, his eyes watered from it, blurring again and again, despite his attempts to blink them clear.  Within moments, his uniform felt like plate armour, heavy, hot, and draining the fluid from him as fast as his body could produce it.  And the noise!  The winding down of the DropShip engines was bad enough, but the sounds coming from the open woodland off the edge of the tarmac and behind the chain-link fence was incredible.  It sounded like every insect in the Inner Sphere was baying for blood in that wood, all at once.  The physical assault on his senses was worse than combat, that he had been trained to deal with. This, this reception, this was truly the gateway to hell itself. This was a more fitting way to arrive at the end of his career could he have dreamed of himself in his darkest moments.

In the shimmering distance, he could just make out the shape of a vehicle and hoped against all hope that the vehicle was coming to get him. My kingdom for a cooling vest. He thought, as he remained ramrod straight, his pride not to be sullied despite his now apparently mad choice of leaving the DropShip.  The shimmering shape slowly approached as wave after belting wave of heat and sound washed over him, every moment threatening to be the one to drive him back into the DropShip.  He could feel rivers of sweat pouring off his body, soaking his pristine uniform and ruining his carefully crafted look.  That was the worst thought of all, and the one though which nearly sent him back into the cool confines of the DropShip behind him.

Eventually the small four wheeled, camouflage painted, jeep type vehicle pulled up with a screech in front of the young officer.  From the driver’s side, on the right of the vehicle, jumped the scruffiest looking private the young officer had ever seen. The man’s camouflage fatigues looked as though they had never seen the Regimental laundry, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, the back of the shirt hanging out of his pants, and his slouch hat looked as though it had been molested by an angry tank. Placing the hat rapidly on his head, the driver moved quickly around the vehicle looking more battered than a party crashing Locust at an Atlas convention.  The driver scurried around the vehicle and made straight for the Officer’s carry bag. “Jesus.  What the bloody hell are doing out here? Get in the truck before you collapse!”

The young officer remained at attention, glaring at the driver. “You will salute superior officers, before asking permission to address them in such familiar ways.” He barked, appalled at not only the driver’s lack of uniform discipline, but also his general lack of regard for the officer’s rank.

The young driver stopped, dropped the bag a looked at the officer. “Right then, your one of those are you? Here.” He threw the most rudimentary of salutes, one which more or less resembled an attempt to swat a fly, of which there seemed to be many present, than the respect due a superior officer. He then grabbed the bag and moved away before the officer could say anything.  “Best get in the car, you’re startin to look like a melted wedding cake.” 

Normally the young officer would have given the man a massive dressing down and demanded a proper salute, but the heat was now unbearable, and weakness in the form a slumping to his knees would not do.  The officer moved to the door, which of course was not held open for him, opened it and climbed into the blessedly cool interior which, despite its utilitarian fit, was as comfortable as a Ducal suite, as far as the overheating officer was concerned.

The car suddenly accelerated, tossing the officer into his seat as the young driver seemed to be trying to do his level best to crack the land speed record before the jeep had left the tarmac.  The young man looked over his shoulder, oblivious to what was in front of the careening vehicle. “You Peacocks are all the same arn’t you mate, more balls than brains?  Whatever possessed you to wait outside today?”

The officer ignored the question with one of his own. His voice was slow and measured, containing just the right tone of condescension which one used when talking down to inferiors. “This peacock term I have heard used, what does it mean?”

The driver laughed, causing the jeep to swerve a little as it passed close to a massive Chippewa Aerofighter parked on the edge of the field.  “Peacock!  That’s what we call all you Lyran pretty boys they keep sending us.  You lot all arrive looking more gussied up than a Brisbane whore on New Years.  Honestly, where do you get the time to put all that junk on?  You bunch need to learn that all that glittery crap’s about as useful as a paper bag when the figtin starts.”

“THIS, is the uniform of an officer of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces, worn according to regulations, something you would best learn to emulate.  I will have no hesitation of reporting you to your superiors when I meet them shortly.”

The driver smiled into the mirror as he threw the jeep into a hard-right turn onto a road that lead to what appeared to be an extensive base facility. “Sweet.  I look forward to it.  Can you make sure you note the time you said that on the report?” He checked the clock on the dash. “12:14 local.  You just won me $150 from the boys.”

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Five minutes of frosty standoff later, the jeep came to a screeching halt in front of a small compound, with long, single story huts lining three sides.  The flag poles in the centre held the Blacknova, Australian, and Light Horse standards. The flagpoles were accessed by two paths, one leading from where the jeep had stopped to the building on the opposite side of the compound and the other crossing the compound from the doors to the other two buildings and meeting the first path at the flag poles.  Awful looking, scrubby, native vegetation was planted along the fronts of each of the buildings and was doing its level worst, in the officer’s opinion, to look like a garden.  The long, low buildings did not inspire much appreciation either, being dark in colour with grey roofs and white trimmed windows and doors.  This ungodly place is worse than a Tamar slum.  The young officer now knew for certain that he was at the end of the universe.  Nevertheless, he would show no weakness and would present himself as a Lyran officer was expected.

“Here you are.  CO’s in the building straight ahead.”  The driver made no move to get the officers bag or door, forcing him to do both himself.  He had hardly closed the door when the jeep was off again, hurtling away down the road into the base’s interior.  Straightening himself, he swapped the bag to his left hand, turned on his heel to the left and began walking in a measures stride towards the main entrance to the central building, all the while being assaulted by the heat.

Halfway between the flagpoles and the building he had been directed to, a soldier, or sergeant to be more exact, materialised in front of him.  “You new here?”  Again, no salute and the height of rudeness.

The officer, obviously becoming delirious from the heat, decided to answer. “Of course.”

“Your one of those Lyran types aren’t you?”

“So it would appear.”

“S’pose your pretty well of then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well off.  Like wealthy, y’know?”

“I could be considered well off, yes.”

“Can you spot us a twenty then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you spot me a twenty? Twenty Kroner? We’re all heading out tonight and I’m a bit short.  I’ll get it back to you tomorrow after pays and all.”

The young officer snapped.

“THE LCAF IS NOT A CHARITY! I will not loan money to a senior non-commissioned officer whose lack of financial restraint prevents him from socialising.  You will report yourself to your commanding officer this minute.”

The sergeant looked at the young officer directly, stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged.  “No would covered it you tight Lyran bastard.” 

Before the officer could respond, the sergeant turned and meandered away to a group of non-coms gathered at the door of the building to the left, who were snickering and looking at the officer in ways that ranged from mild pity to outright contempt.  Squaring his shoulders, he turned away and moved into the building, planning on discussing the appalling situation with his superiors.

The corridor he entered was wonderfully cool and led him to a cross corridor with a sign pointing to the left which announced “Commanding Officer”.  He turned down the white painted corridor, passing closed office doors to his right and left until he stood facing an open, wood panelled door with Lt. General Michael Monash stencilled on it.  Entering the room in question he saw an aide sitting behind a simple desk, pushed up hard against the right wall.  The tiny anteroom led into a larger room directly ahead.

Appraising the aide, who seemed somewhat more presentable than anyone he had seen so far, despite being well under LCAF standards, the young officer announced himself.  “Karl von Prussen for Leutnant-General Monash.”

The aide, a Kommandant by his rank pip, did not even look up. “No Lootnant Geneerarrls here.  There is a Lieutenant General if you want to see him though?”

Swallowing his pride Karl replied. “As you wish, the Lieutenant General will do.”

The Kommandant looked up.  “Will he now.  Go straight in, he’s been waiting for you.”

Karl walked straight past the man without another look, becoming more and more angered by the utter contempt that was being shown by these people.  On entering the office, he came to full attention, saluted in precise Lyran fashion and announced himself. “Karl von Prussen, reporting for duty as LCAF liaison to the Australian Militia and Blacknovas mercenary command.”

The last words nearly faltered as he saw his commanding officer.  The man was somewhere between stout and portly and wore undress fatigues, like some common soldier.  He had short dark hair and moustache and was longing against the window on the rooms left, looking out into the courtyard where the flagpoles were.  The office was not much better, cluttered and scruffy with little to distinguish it as the office of a senior officer.

“I see you failed the sergeant’s test?”

Taken aback by the question, Karl could only manage “What test, Herr General.”

“My point exactly.” Responded General Monash.  He turned from the window and approached Karl, who was still saluting and extended his hand.  After a moment, Karl dropped his salute and shook the General’s hand.  “I do hope you learn the ropes a bit faster than that while you’re hear Captain Prussen.”  The General released his hand and offered Karl a seat under the window, sitting himself on the chair opposite.

“I will endeavour to do so Herr General, as I do with all my commands.  I must however point out that my Lyran rank is Hauptman-Kom…I mean Hauptman von Prussen.”

The General gave him a hard and level stare.  “Whilst you are here, you’ll find yourself lucky to get Captain Prussen.  I’d suggest you let the matter drop. It’s really not worth your effort.”

Karl paused for a moment before answering.  “As you direct General.”

“And drop the General.”

“Yes…sir.”

The General looked at Karl in a manner that made him feel like he was a carcass on display.  “Colonel Melhuish of the Blacknovas will be here shortly, you will be travelling with him over the next few months, so I suggest you spend some time with him.  He has a…unique sense of humour, very much an acquired taste, so try not to take anything he says to seriously.”  Karl nodded as the General handed him an official LCAF mobilisation notice.  “Best bring yourself up to speed by reading that.”

Karl looked down at the yellow note and began reading.  Blacknovas Mercenary Regiment in cooperation with two Australian Militia Brigades (to be nominated by Militia Command) is to embark immediately for Tamar.  Recent movements in the Rasalhague District are of potential cause for concern and the nominated formations are directed to conduct reconnaissance raiding and assaults on worlds yet to be determined by Tamar Theatre Command.  This deployment will also test LCAF plans for rapid deployment of reserve forces to the front.

Karl looked up, ignoring the rest of the message.  “Why this command Sir?  The 2nd Royals could just as well undertake it?”

The General smiled. “Because we’re the best at this sort of Dragon Baiting and old Kat wants us to put Defiance’s new Banshee’s and Hatchetmen through their paces.”

Karl was aghast, firstly at referring to Archon Katrina Steiner as Kat, and secondly that such poorly regarded militia formations and mercenaries would have access to the latest of the LCAF’s weaponry.

“Don’t look so shocked lad, we’ve been breaking Defiance’s toys for them for years now.  Once we stop being able to break them, Defiance considers them ready.  It also gives Iggy, Colonel Melhuish, a chance to see if you’re as hot a Mechjock as your file says you are.  That, plus the chance for the Blacknovas to blood themselves at the Dragon’s expense.”
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You know there is something wrong with the FWL, when Word's spell check changes Impavido to Impetigo and Zechetinu to Secretion.

snakespinner

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Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #159 on: 08 July 2018, 02:48:37 »
Australians insubordinate, never. >:D :D
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Growing up is optional.

cawest

  • Warrant Officer
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  • Posts: 565
Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #160 on: 08 July 2018, 03:19:18 »
ohhhh I can not wait to see what they do to that peacock ring knocker.   

mikecj

  • Lieutenant
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  • Posts: 1487
  • Veteran of Galahad 3028
Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #161 on: 09 July 2018, 09:24:05 »
If he survives, he'll never fit in again in the LCAF.
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

DOC_Agren

  • Lieutenant
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  • Posts: 821
Re: The Kapteyn Universe - The Other Option (Books 1 and 2)
« Reply #162 on: 09 July 2018, 13:18:54 »
If he survives, he'll never fit in again in the LCAF.
If he ends up fitting in, he will end up doing what all good LCAF officers do, and end up Merc
"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!"