Private Messaging Network, Oliver Stefan

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

 

Good day everyone,

Sorry its been a while, but I figure better late than never. My number was called and I've been shipped off to boot, well, I was about a month ago considering what they've told us of censorship and all, it takes a while to get through hundreds of letters daily so odds are mine will take a while to reach you all. None the less, it finally happened and I can say its all gone perfectly fine. I'm kidding, its been a long and arduous ramp up to what will still be a long and arduous time. But I can't complain. Let me start from the beginning, as that might make the most sense.

The recruiter got a hold of me one day and told me that I'd be shipping off, "When?" I asked and he sort of motioned to a line of others getting ready to disembark with duffle bags under their arms. We're walked onto a small ship with no mention of where we're going, and within a few hours we've seemed to have piggy backed off another, larger ship and we're there. I didn't get into too many conversations as everyone was scarred stiff of whatever thousand horrible possibilities awaited us as we landed. To most of our surprise though, it turned out to be a rather impressive facility.

 

We were lead out of the transport into a concrete and steel hangar and "introduced" to our Drill Sergeant, more of, we were screamed at. A regalia of insults and jeers came forth as the man talked. He was flanked by a pale, tall man wearing a beret and what looked like dress apparel. After a while our Drill Sergeant calmed down, he informed us of where we would be residing and who the man flanking him was, the Lieutenant of our Company.

"Welcome to the 417th, Lieutenant Steiner or Sir is what you will refer to me and all Commissioned Officers, but we will teach you more of that later. I and the Gunnery Sergeant here will be overseeing your training." The first thing that hit me was the Germanic accent, wubble-u's I believe the term is came out frequently and the mixture of pale skin and blonde hair seemed to fit the man well. Regardless, after he finishes there is a few moments of silence, a few nods between officers, and we're told to haul ass down to our bunks.

 

Inside, its mostly empty aside from a few troopers clearing their stuff out, they shuffle out fast to the sign of incoming recruits. Most of us are dead quiet side for a few quiet jokes and silent stares, but I managed to introduce myself to a few others as we found our bunks, off quickly came the barrage of questions about the whole, mask thing, but they quickly subsided when it was explained and we all began to get to know each other. I'd just packed away my things and had spiffed up my footlocker when the Drill Sergeant came in with a whistle and made a noise so loud the tin roof shook, "Now.." he said in that demanding and shock and awe sounding voice, "Follow me recruits, I will show you your new home.." And all of us in our freshly ironed fatigues are pulled out, and ordered into a light jog.

The compound is something to see, a large, beautiful concrete flooring covers most of the ground and many buildings, small and large prop up here and there. We're introduced to them as we run by, we're ordered into a standing jog every so often and told what the buildings server. Our Drill Sergeant lists them out, "Mess hall! Simple enough. Officers hall! If one of you ever makes it in there to do anything but wash the floors, I will be surprised.." And so on and so forth, showers, storage, the armory, outer gates lead to the shooting range and obstacle courses. The large inner gate, large, thick, and guarded by two towers, leads to the "Main control center of the base and other bases nearby, officers only unless told otherwise."

 

We're run off to one of the outer gates and told to stand at rest for a few moments, as the Drill Sergeant talks with a trooper on guard, there's soft jeering and quiet chuckles and some of the guys even seem winded as we move out into a beautifully large field, might be a mile of open ground before woodlands, that is to say without the large amount of training course burned into the country side. To the left as we exit is a large range covered in sand bags and mesh netting where a few guards and MP's in dark blue practice firing with sidearms. And to the right is a large course that runs for several hundred feet. "Single file line at the mark!" The drill sergeant shouts, and we're all put into line. By this time a lot of the officers and MP's that have mysteriously finished at the range walk over and prepare to laugh as the new recruits get their asses handed to them. And, well, he shouts and one recruit starts running. And long story short its been like this for quite a few weeks now, mostly physical training, we've been given weapons and gear and, well its a pain to carry. I like how to the quartermaster outlined it for me:

"Combat engineer? Good luck buddy, your spine will be broken by the third day of carrying all this. You have your standard pack filled with survival supplies, mess kit, extra ammo, your rifle, and if you're an engineer, sidearm, knife, flack jacket, helmet, tool belt and about thirty other bits and pieces of extra gear. The normal grunts usually fill that space with extra ammo so best of luck."

I've been writing this over the course of a few days and I think I've covered more than enough so I best try and mail this as soon as possible, we're being told that VR training will begin soon so, I best get ready.

 

-Rct. Oliver Stefan

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---

OOC Time:

Alright folks, I hope you liked the first letter, now let me just outline a few things. If you have any questions, comments, or mentions you'd like to bring up, please PM me over the forum or steam, I'd like to keep the forum clean for reply's. That brings me to the next point, if your character is one mentioned, feel free to have them reply. But unless your character is mentioned or we've chatted it out on the side, please don't, you'll make nibbles cry. If you feel your character SHOULD be added, just PM me over the forums or steam and we can see about it. Thanks a ton! I hope people enjoy the story.

Edited January 28, 2022 by nbielinski

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Good Evening Folks,

So bad news, I died recently. Well to be exact I think the squad tally has reached4246. In the last few weeks I have died 46 times. As I said last time, the Virtual Reality training has vamped up and so we've been introduced to our squad mates. Originally there was only a fire team of maybe half a dozen riflemen, and if you were lucky and machine gunner. Now though, its expanded to one engineering unit, a combat medic, a heavy gunner, and a few riflemen to cover the flanks. And as of now I have my assignment into a squad of 6, not including our Corporal and Sergeant. We got our loose groupings in mess one day and after several rounds of PT and testing on the range we're fitted into more concrete squads.

I was introduced the day before VR training began, first was James Duvall, our resident medic who promised to keep us all alive, despite having the quietest and most unassuming voice this side of the known galaxy. After him quickly was Callium Reid, fresh on Duvalls' heels to make jeers and jokes about me, Duvall and pretty much everything. They're both good guys if not an odd couple to be friends, but I won't complains. After him came Dan Shahak, a burly guy, friendly but able to snap a grown man in two with a single hand. Finally came Shu Whuping and Jason McKnight, both good guys but the lankiest, sneakiest squad mates ever.

Shu, Reid, and Jason are all riflemen in charge of keeping our flanks secure and us alive. Duvall is our medic in charge of picking up where the rifles leave off, Dan is our heavy gunner, he loves that damn HMG like its his own lover and by god its adorable. Finally there's me, combat engineer. Funtimes to be had all around it seems. Our squad leader is Sergeant Brass, quite the character when you get to know him, between the jokes and the calm tone you'd think he was an enlisted man. Our Corporal is Edwin Buck, good man if not too addicted to what I can only describe as being "Latex clad Asian females" but, yea I won't speculate on that too much. Finally our Lance Corporal (Thats the rank just under Corporal) is William Kensington, a nice guy to have around if not too strict about rules and regulations but then again with a squad full of jokers you need someone to play straight man.

I'm now two days into this letter and almost forgot what I was talking about. Oh yes, VR training. So it begins when the our Gunnery Sergeant Galdis jogs my squad into one of the rather large buildings in the compound and the first thing we notice is the darkness, almost no lights come out and the next thing we notice is the large egg shaped pods in the middle of the room, surrounded and connected to dozens of electrical cables that feed into banks of softly glowing servers. Each hums as you get near. We're ordered into our skivvies and then into these odd suits that seem to connect remotely to parts of the pod as you step in, electrodes flare up and the whole thing lights up around you. After a long while, static fills your head and you start to drift off, soon enough you're blinking awake in whatever simulation is in stock.

During this particular day, we all shake and wake up right next to each other, in a semi school circle. And after a short while we all notice we're wearing olive drab uniforms, odd but not startling, steel helmets all similar aside from Duvalls' which bears a red cross circled by a white line. And almost on cue as the first questions are raised, the Drill Sergeant seemingly materializes out of the blue and nods to each of us, "Men, welcome to your first day in virtual reality training. As you may note, this place is huge, most maps are. In here we are the play things of a virtual reality techie that oversees all simulations. Some things to note.." he says, starting to pace and inspect each of us, "There are safeties in place, at maximum safety, you feel no harsh pain and your avatar may die and you will be popped out of the VR totally unharmed." He nods and continues, "At medium safety, the system will send you bursts of pain when you are wounded but nothing major, and if you die in the simulation, your physical body will experience random moodles of pain or discomfort, don't worry these are not serious and you just need to take a 5 minute breather." Finally he turns and faces us, "Finally is safeties off, which gives you acute pain similar to what wounds you would receive if you were wounded in battle. And if you die in the simulation, acute internal bleeding, brain trauma, and seizures may occur. So. That is why we keep safeties on at least in some degrees. Such as moderate pain levels and no avatar death punishment. None the less lads. I give you a test now.." And we all perk up and pay attention as he fiddles with something behind his back, "Find out what level of safety we are on, and report back to me." With that we all stand for a moment or two before we realize the Sergeant has just rolled something from his side to us with a soft "CLINK." Turns out it was an old style fragmentation grenade that jellies the organs of anyone within a 10 foot radius. It was live, and we all found out what the maximum safety setting feels like that day.

So that's how its been for a while now, medics have been training with virtual patients, engineers with virtual tools in situations that are otherwise impossible to recreate. And all of us have been working on marksmanship, being able to trail a target with our sights and squeeze off a round that meets up perfectly. Needless to say we're all getting significantly better, and its been quite the exciting time. Now that's not saying that combat will be as exciting, I understand that the safeties don't exist in such a scenario but for now; without death hanging over our heads, the situations seem more handle-able and our reactions are getting more accustomed to dangerous situations. Anyway, I best get back to training, we're starting vehicle practice and lets just say we want to cut down on the, "Oops I pressed the wrong button on this vehicle and killed a squad mate with its cannon." Deaths as much as possible. I'll write as soon as I can.

-Private Oliver Stefan

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Good evening folks,

I hope the last few letters haven't been unwarranted but I think this one is somewhat important. I'm being shipped out today, along with the rest of my unit. We were shuttled aboard a large troop transport and hurried off to the SAMV [CENSORED] and may I tell you its a sight. A beautiful ship, gigantic from the outside but, well, marines get very small quarters. We've been told only where were headed and its not on patrol duty in the inner systems, we're off to the rim planets and, well, we're getting a combat drop soon enough.

I can't chat for long, we're familiarizing ourselves with the ship and its systems, in case we're boarded or vice versa, I just hope these letters are actually getting through. I have them written by hand then uploaded and sent off to you ladies and gentlemen so my only hope is its actually working. Anyway, I will write more later but for now its gotten too busy to write much else.

-Private Oliver Stefan

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Dearest Ladies and Gentlemen,

Sorry for the abruptness of the last letter, we got shuttled out fairly quickly and got our assignments. Not a bad section of the ship to be on, we're double bunked of course so while one of our squad gets their rifles cleaned and equipment sorted out, and otherwise faffs about, the other can rest for a few hours. A welcome change of pace, turns out my last few letters have been actually quite a few weeks late, so this one should be somewhat current. Sadly I can't give date, or time, or place, or really much else besides we're on a huge scrap of metal and glass hurtling through space in the outer rim area. No real landfall has been made yet, mostly we're kept in the back pocket of the ship. If the time comes and the sailors can't use the laser banks and large guns to keep the enemy from getting aboard. Though considering we're fighting pirates, that shouldn't be much an issue.

I hope everyone is doing alright, been quite some time, nonetheless on the topic of pirates. Most of our contacts have been as follows: Get thrown out of bed by the alarm ringing, realize its just a pirate freighter or smuggling ship, wait for the navy to blast it to pieces. The only real issue we've had is really recently, we ran up on a ship that started their transmission to us with, "We're slavers." Grand company we keep in the Marines. None the less our squad, well really our fire team and about two others are tasked with getting aboard the ship that's been disabled, and either finish off the slavers or see that they get brought back in ties. Of course Sergeant Brass and Corporal Buck both agree that shooting first and asking later will be a great idea as opposed to loosing a marine to some slaver with antiquated weaponry.

Standard infiltration, we've practiced it several times in simulation before and even a few times in EVA training, I probably can't say much about how we do it. Or someone finds out and suddenly every ship has anti-personnel mines strapped to our regular points of infiltration. Anyway, we get inside and I'm packing a sub-machine gun, Whuping has the same, Duvall is sticking to a sidearm, so he can have one hand to put band aids on people, and finally Reid, McKnight and Dan are all packing shotguns. Useful in such tight corridors. And soon enough we're breaking apart our fire teams.

"Alpha with me, Bravo with Buck and Stefan see about bringing your men around the bottom floors." Were our orders. Did I mention I got promoted? Yep, Private First Class Oliver Stefan, quite the fun ride and they said another show of not fucking up will land me Lance Corporal soon enough. None the less, we know the bottom floors are probably devoid of anything besides rats but we move down anyway and start to clear. Standard affair of breaching a compartment, making sure no one is hiding in the cupboards and moving on, save for the final few rooms, rather the one last room that we had to breach. It had a label and all but, not in Sol Common, so we breach it anyway. Standing there is 2 humans wearing red-patchwork armor and 3 Unathi wearing armor of the same color variation. So we're all standing there, the Marines having just broken open the door and the slaver crew sort of standing there. Then suddenly our machine guns, shotguns, rifles, axes, knives, pistols, everything comes sprawling up and all out chaos as both of us open up on one another. Not surprisingly we made it out and the only thing that got hit was Reid's dignity when he managed to miss the target 10 feet away.

Turns out we'd found the last compartment where the remainder of the slavers, and their, ahem, "Cargo" were being stored. Grateful that our half ass shooting didn't kill any of them, we ex-filled the survivors out, regrouped and cut out. On a side note, it turns out that the majority of the other fire teams failed to find much besides the holdouts of the crew, all with maybe one hostage among them as a bartering chip. Thankfully most of them were too stupid to stand behind the bartering chip so they were gunned down without issue. A curious issue happened though, as we're standing in the bridge of the freighter to ex fill, a slave tugs at the Sergeants shoulder and whispers that one of them is a slaver in slaves clothing, and plans to finish them off once our line of sight is broken. Brass turns and says aloud to the slaves assembled, "Is this true?" As they start to single the slaver out, they all nod and without a few seconds the Sergeant has out his sidearm and has made a tunnel out of the skull of the now ex-slaver. Thankfully that was it for the remainder of the night, we pull out and scuttle the ship as maybe a warning to the next band of misfits that decide that honest work can be skipped by just kidnapping people.

Anyway I must be going, please write back, it gets boring stuck in a room full of nothing but other bored men and women as you hurtle through space. Hopefully these are getting through, talk soon.

-Private First Class Oliver Stefan

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Dearest Ladies and Gentlemen,

I hope everyone is doing alright, sorry its taken so long to write a reply but we've been moved to an outpost. It was a slow transition but after several stops in the middle of the line we're here. Me, the men in the fire team, and hell most of our entire regiment is being posted up at an outpost, somewhere in rim territory. I believe the idea is to have us on guard in case any nearby colony is in need of help. I must say they propped it up like it was a beautiful resort. "Beautiful landscapes, friendly neighbors, wildlife galore, etc." But its the etc I'm afraid of, too much we don't know yet. None the less its been almost an easy trip. I found out why we're not having too many problems on the way, we're deep in raiding lanes but whenever the deck crews spot a ship that is remotely pirate, they knock out its engines and tear it in half. Not that any of us are complaining, EVA suits are too bulky to be comfortable in, but any smaller and a single pistol round would have us decompressed and floating around like frozen blood balloons. I think the only one that remotely liked boarding slaver ships, tearing their crew to bits then getting as many thank you's as well hold open the umbilical doors, was Dan, who was anxious to try out his new MG on targets that aren't stationary. Anyway, we're getting our assignments now, but I'll keep writing in a few hours.

Turns out, that not only are we getting put in the middle of no-where comfortably between "Everything left of nowhere" and "Everything right of no where" so prime real estate. The compound has yet to be completed so that'll be part of my job, contractors are hard to come by when all you have is a small village with less than 1,000 civvies inside. A third of them working on terra-forming and farming, but it'll keep me and some of the others busy. Besides from that, it'll be a fairly comfortable stay, nothing fancy, I hope to write when I get there but we have no idea when resupply shipments come in, and that's when I get my letters out. So don't be surprised if I don't write for long, between work and the rather low chance of getting weekly shipments in, odds are not a whole lot will be going out.

We're due to land soon right now, our regiment is being assembled and hurried into vehicles and such to be moved out, so for now I must say goodbye. Mind writing back? Its getting rather lonely out here. Anyway, no pressure. Glad to write anyway.

-Pfc. Oliver Stefan

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Good evening once more ladies and gentlemen,

Sorry for my tardiness in writing, as it stands our assignment seems to be a base made for a few hundred, and now it has to hold upwards of a thousand. As well, improvements are hard when the only civilian work force is either working in fields, kitchens, or mines on this rock. So its up to much of the engineering staff to get the work done. Its nothing back breaking, a few hours of work a day, we're far enough from the systems' sun so its not boiling, but its not freezing. And by far the hardest part has been dealing with rapid changes. Our foreman is a military tactician mixed with a chief engineer, so his brain has trouble getting opinions from both sides before we get to work. But no complaints, I've worked in and with worse. Besides that though, nothing to complain about, we get our regular training periods every week to keep us on our toes, but a lot of the free time is spent in town.

Not much there of course, housing most of it, maybe one or two stores max. What did we expect? Its a small mining town mainly, gets its supplies from traders. Though they do have one nice spot, a bar, fairly well sized. Full two stories with beautifully stocked shelves. From what I understand they make their own stuff in a still, with crops grown from farmers. That's the exchange I guess, the owners get supplies and the farmers get to drink their way under the table as hard as possible. Sadly for us that means we have to pay up or get out, but so far its been a welcoming place. Aside from the town drunkard who has solemnly pledged to disrupt and sabotage all of our villainous plans in his town. Mainly by pissing on the side of our jeep, insulting our mothers in the bar, and by keying, "Sul Alloonace go hume" in broken T.C. Basic, on the side of the Colonels' staff car. Of course that landed him a good time in jail to further insult our mothers.

Speaking of traders, I had an interesting chat with one of the local girls in the bar, a waitress I believe her name was Rachel, "Thank the Lord you men are here.." she said to our table one night, "Why's that? Need company that bad?" Reid replies. She chuckles and retorts, "Nah, its just, traders have to be paid extra to get out here, the fringes and all. With military ships coming and going with escorts that would make even the hardest pirate piss 'emselves, the traders can tag along and save cash on escorts." We all nod and thank her for the drinks and she walks off to tend another table. Great, we're the best convenient excuse to be cheap in the galaxy. Though its good to know we breathe in some sighs of relief around here. Lord knows suddenly beginning heavy construction, marching in a full regiment of Marines, and wheeling out quad-75 millimeter cannons as a means of defense against air attacks would put anyone on edge, at least the promise of cheap trading comes with us. That and an assurance that anyone trying to get on the ground without clearance will face a world of hurt, here and on neighboring planets.

Colonel Zimmer said it best I think, "You see boys, we're placed here because between us and the next military emplacement is a few good systems that have toiled under the yoke of piracy for much too long." And he made this grand sweeping motion to all the out-dated and antiquated transports we have, "You will be the hand at the end of the long arm of the Sol Alliance, ready to lift up those in need, and beat those who oppress." A modern day hero I must say, but promising none the less. Any who, I should get back, my shift starts soon. Best not be late or else they send out the MP's and you get put to double time on the project. I'll chat with you folks later.

-Pfc. Oliver Stefan

 

--OOC TIMES--

Another little heads up ladies and gentlemen, I hope you all like the story, I accept feedback and criticisms as they come. On a more personal note, tomorrow, the 15th is my birthday and after that, on the 27th I will be finally bunking in with my college roommate and preparing for the next four grueling years of life. So the letters might slow drastically, but for now I hope the ride is fun and I hope people enjoy it. Its my pleasure to write.

-Nibbles

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Good day ladies and gentlemen,

Sorry for the large wait, things to more hectic after my last letter, long story short the base was finally finished when we had an orbit breach. Some unknown ship, transport the brass says, tried to get through atmo and land on one of the platform in the center of town. Most of us were outside doing drills when it happened, lots of shouting, officers calling for marines to grab weapons from the armory, a few men from another unit readying a pair of anti-craft guns. Seemed like it happened in a few seconds but from the after action report, it took 5 minutes to get into range of the town, one for the gunners to get a solution ready, and another 4 for it to break apart and fall near the town. Reports are also saying towns people watched "pods" fire off into the woodlands while the craft went down. So for about a month the entire area was on lockdown trying to find the bastards that managed to land.

Ships coming in are scanned for life forms, unloaded, loaded up if needed and sent off just as quickly. Only now there's a squad of marines stationed at the platforms, overseeing the unloading and loading of materials. And no outgoing messages, civilian or personnel, the brass was paranoid it was a ruse to get agents on the ground, scope out what we had, then hit us when we least expected it. Now that brings me to today, we're moving out soon. As it turns out the ship was short range, like our transports, only to be used between a few planets before it needs a refueling. That was before shells turned it to scrap. So the higher ups have been racking heads about where it came from. "A larger ship?" Someone asks, "No, too big, if that were being carried by a larger ship, we would have known about both of them long before hand." Comes the reply, "Well what about a nearby planet?" And bang, right on the money. As our position isn't too far from four planetoids that forum up into a system.

First up is two mining colonies, then there's ours, farming planet, the others rely on this one for food. The last one is an industrial hub, largest of them all, that's where most of the mining and farming equipment comes from, as well its where the government is stationed for the system. Brass says that's our best bet. Miners might not be the most pleasant folk but they won't let pirates just horn in around them, could have the whole place shut down and turned into a government facility, lose their paychecks and have it all gone down the toilet. That hub though, a place of infinite overlapping industries and businesses, one band could fit right in and remain snug for a long while.

So that's where we're going, might not make the most sense but when the security of your home depends on a show of force, a regiment of marines armed to the teeth and ready to take on what might come, is a really fine show of force. We'll be moving out within the week so I just wanted to write quickly saying that I'm alright. Oh, and I'm being recommended for Lance Corporal, a bit of a step up but I think it'll be more than worth it. I hope everyone else is doing alright, and that I'm not dead in peoples minds yet. I'll try and write more often. Write back if you can. Thanks.

-Private First Class Oliver Stefan,

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Good day ladies and gentlemen,

Sorry for the large wait, things to more hectic after my last letter, long story short the base was finally finished when we had an orbit breach. Some unknown ship, transport the brass says, tried to get through atmo and land on one of the platform in the center of town. Most of us were outside doing drills when it happened, lots of shouting, officers calling for marines to grab weapons from the armory, a few men from another unit readying a pair of anti-craft guns. Seemed like it happened in a few seconds but from the after action report, it took 5 minutes to get into range of the town, one for the gunners to get a solution ready, and another 4 for it to break apart and fall near the town. Reports are also saying towns people watched "pods" fire off into the woodlands while the craft went down. So for about a month the entire area was on lockdown trying to find the bastards that managed to land.

Ships coming in are scanned for life forms, unloaded, loaded up if needed and sent off just as quickly. Only now there's a squad of marines stationed at the platforms, overseeing the unloading and loading of materials. And no outgoing messages, civilian or personnel, the brass was paranoid it was a ruse to get agents on the ground, scope out what we had, then hit us when we least expected it. Now that brings me to today, we're moving out soon. As it turns out the ship was short range, like our transports, only to be used between a few planets before it needs a refueling. That was before shells turned it to scrap. So the higher ups have been racking heads about where it came from. "A larger ship?" Someone asks, "No, too big, if that were being carried by a larger ship, we would have known about both of them long before hand." Comes the reply, "Well what about a nearby planet?" And bang, right on the money. As our position isn't too far from four planetoids that forum up into a system.

First up is two mining colonies, then there's ours, farming planet, the others rely on this one for food. The last one is an industrial hub, largest of them all, that's where most of the mining and farming equipment comes from, as well its where the government is stationed for the system. Brass says that's our best bet. Miners might not be the most pleasant folk but they won't let pirates just horn in around them, could have the whole place shut down and turned into a government facility, lose their paychecks and have it all gone down the toilet. That hub though, a place of infinite overlapping industries and businesses, one band could fit right in and remain snug for a long while.

So that's where we're going, might not make the most sense but when the security of your home depends on a show of force, a regiment of marines armed to the teeth and ready to take on what might come, is a really fine show of force. We'll be moving out within the week so I just wanted to write quickly saying that I'm alright. Oh, and I'm being recommended for Lance Corporal, a bit of a step up but I think it'll be more than worth it. I hope everyone else is doing alright, and that I'm not dead in peoples minds yet. I'll try and write more often. Write back if you can. Thanks.

-Private First Class Oliver Stefan,

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Good day ladies and gentlemen,

Since the last letter, we've landed on [CENSORED], and the place is just as bad as expected. Let me elaborate, we all got into the landing craft and shipped out, maybe a small band left behind to keep the compound neat and tidy. Never the less we arrived, about mid day but the capital city was dark, dark and raining. By the time we broke atmo the pilots were complaining about wind conditions turning it into a hard landing, as the city had grown around the landing platforms, their only access to large amounts of food and fuel. In doing so pilots who were planning on a smooth landing had to deal with a ship getting toyed around like a yo-yo while it went lower. The rising cityscape slowly enveloped the ship and every window suddenly became filled with skyscrapers, first their penthouse upper class floors then slowly but surely our views adjusted to the sight of slums, gutters and refuse pilling up in the streets.

"This, is where we operate." pipped up one of our Captains, Captain Escobar. "In the lower sections of the city, officials and local leaders are all probably as guilty as slavers, but we can't send in a squad to kick open their doors without enough red tape to cover the entire planet three times over."

Again, the officers are experts at inspiring speeches, especially when warning us that we're about to get our rear ends kicked by the entire lower-city. But again, we charge forward, rather march. As fashionably as possible, wearing impeccable uniforms, brandishing our recently cleaned rifles and LMG's straight into the city and into what is to be our local command post, an old hotel that we need to assault. The defenders? Rats and cockroaches. Squads are assigned rooms, fire teams are allotted floors, and we all get put in charge of beautification of our floors, either make the rooms spotless or the rest of your fire team has to deal with the issue. So began three days worth of staying up to clean the place out, old used needles, decaying refuse, bones from whatever the rats have been eating. I sincerely hope the rest of the city is better off than this but to be fair we've not made too many ventures out. The brass has been debating with our higher ups and the higher ups around us if an armed marine garrison is really required for what is a small crime problem in the area.

"Yea. 'Oh so a few people get kidnapped and end up Unathi slaves. Or a few dozen homeless people end up going rabid and go on rampages because of laced local drugs but who caaares' 's long as the stench doesn't reach their beautiful suites half a mile up." Reids' words, a day or two ago and he's not wrong, the problem is this place is run by the people at the top but the people at the top haven't looked to the ground since the day they were born. So us being here might disrupt the delicate balance of power that exists here. Too many people with too much power and not enough checks and balances. So that's what we're here for I guess, to take stock of what the hell we're dealing with. I'll have to write more later but for now I can't, we're gearing up for our first sweep of the local area. Write later.

-PFC. Oliver Stefan.

 

[NebulaFlare]

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To:Oliver Stefan

Oliver! She has been wondering where he has vanished to, and is so glad to hear he's still okay!! His letters were held off from her because of some red-tape security thing or whatever, she doesn't know. She hasn't read through all of them yet, and she only has fifteen minutes allotment to respond, so she'll try to get everything in quick!

She has been doing well, and so has most of the station. We all miss him, and can't wait for him to come back! Karima has been so busy lately. She was assigned to another research project, although she is more of an apprentice in this one. They got a bunch of us researchers together and had us make a library of pAIs for military. She's so happy she can put her skills into good use, and can help people like him.

We don't make it from scratch. That would take too long. We're given a basic outline and a list of things they want the units to specialize in. So once we have that, we edit and re-program the AIs to suit their listed qualities. She probably can't tell him exactly which specific project she was assigned to, but maybe he's already used her pAI! Or one of his friends has.

Her team is made up of eight researchers. Herself, two Skrell, and the rest are humans. She'd tell him more about them if she had time, but for now, he can settle knowing we're all nerdy eggheads. She's responsible for the core development coding, which is like teaching the synthetic basic understandings of what is good and what is not. Their unit has already been deployed, but she upkeeps maintenance and makes sure it remains corruption-free. She runs them through tests and simulations, finding out how they react to certain situations. She also goes through field data with the other researchers and figure out ways to make it better.

If he wonders why she keeps referring to the unit both in singular and plural, it's because it's something called a 'shard network'. It's basically a lot of little AIs all linked together to co-exist as one larger AI. The shards can break free and work alone, perfectly fine, before being re-absorbed back into the network. It's really amazing.

Her time is coming up, so she has to end the transmission. Stay safe, okay?! When he gets back, she's going to throw a big welcome back party!

~Karima Mo'Taki

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam, O. Roadman

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki,

Good evening ladies and gentlemen,

Apologies for the rapid fire replies but I find myself less and less able to write large bulk letters now, as timing is being monitored and and kept in line, no free time that isn't spent eating, sleeping, drilling, or manning barricades near our HQ. As it turns out our whole operation spans about three city blocks at most, patrols and scouts being sent out further if required. Our job, it seems, is to scour the area designated high crime traffic locations and hope that a regiment of heavily armed marines being used a police keeping force, hasn't already tipped off pirates to get the hell outta dodge. Which subsequently brings me into this week, our first deployment. As it stands we've been getting loads of tips from locals on shady goings on. We bust a door down on an apartment complex to find it filled with minor issues, someone has a drug stash about the size of a small dog. Whoopdie-do, while that manpower and time is wasted there, another batch of kidnapped civvies is sold off to be used as slave labor. So I hope my gripes don't seem to come from no-where.

None the less, this week was our first deployment into the outer reaches of what we call our zone of control, where crime is at least diminished. One of our tips was of a location where late night deals were struck between buyers and sellers. Sellers of what you might ask? Well it varied, one tip said they were an ex-drug addict and used to scamper inside to earn a hit, a few were captured criminals "interrogated" by the local police into giving away that spot, and maybe a handful were people in the surrounding neighborhood reporting the area around that location, "Suddenly and totally becoming emptied of inhabitants that had loved to live there for ages." So as it stood, best training ground to take down. And what struck me, and well everyone else, first; was just how little we understood. The minute we left the pearly gates of our compound we saw what urban centers in this area of the galaxy were like. Buzzing with activity as dozens and hundreds of people flocked to get to their locations, trams running overhead and skyscrapers piercing the sky even higher. Yet down in the slums its as if people were turned to animals, single function at a time, fueled by basic need, animals. Herds and herds, thankfully two squadrons of marines armed to the teeth and lead by our beloved, now Master Sergeant Galdis who screamed as he had never had a mouth before and just wanted to make everyone know his new found ability to vocalize.

It wasn't too far a walk, honestly the worst thing at that point was the smell. A mix of ages of refuse being dropped literally from the sky, the aroma of human excrement having no where else to go, rotten food once peddled as fresh now thrown into overflowing dumpsters, and finally the flavor in the air of what can only be described as death. Not that people around us were dying in droves and that made the place stink, but that what we were seeing and experiencing was the cancer of modern civility, poverty, crime, and violence all pooling together to slowly kill everything at this level. Pardon, was getting a bit metaphysical there, regardless of what we smelled the march took us to the oddest place in the city so far, a quiet location. Honestly full of no noise other than what was far behind us or awaiting on the other side of this block. Soon enough though, we'd split in half and taken to the sidewalks in single file, eyes on our target.

Before the place had gone to hell, it was probably a nice home, three floors high with what appeared to be an old shop in front, warehouse next door that functioned as some sort of industrial storage facility long ago. The warehouse was boarded up and covered in corrugated steel plates to entice looters to royally run off. So our only choice was to enter through the home next door and if need be, blast a hole through to the next door. Which turned out to be unnecessary. Our squad meanwhile, was assigned to guard the street, because, as it seems our intrusion was a surprise, our movements were equally interesting.

Two impromptu kneeling positions were set up, and we set up on both sides, as we were slowly encroached upon by locals wondering why two squads of heavily armed marines needed to kick open dust museums. Duvall and Reid were next to be, as Galdis walked about between the two groups, yelling orders and barking at us to bark at the civvies to keep back. So we did, brandishing shotguns, light machine guns and rifles galore, we called them to step back. Little did we remember, that in these slums, Gutter was the main language and we were essentially spitting in the wind.

Suddenly it all kicks off, Bravo (the folks inside the building) call out that its just a bunch of empty freight containers with "Fuck the Alliance" written on the side in broken Common, and a few empty tin cans. Whatever tips we had were a few decades too late it seems. At that moment the Sergeant got rather uppity and seemed to turn his focus on the group in front of Duvall, Reid and myself. Me in the middle, Reid to my right and Duvall to my left aimed down this barricade at people poorer than dirt rubbernecking our group to see what the heck we were on about.

"Stefan?" Reid asks aloud,

"Yea Reid?" I retort.

"Can you smell these people from under that mask...?" He asks in that cheeky adorable voice of his,

"Yea actually I ca-" and that is about as far as I got.

Sergeant Galdis screamed over our heads in perfect Common for the group of Gutter speaking civvies to get back, brandished his laser pistol, and fired a round into the air, spooking most of them. All but this one girl who I remember fondly. She had dark hair, curly and black and unkempt as was the given, shabby clothes made from some type of burlap and covered in stains, soft features and these dark, foreboding eyes. She was at the business end of the Sergeants' pistol when she simply turned and ran. It was at that time that Reid, Duvall and myself noticed something.. rolling at us, with a soft clinking. Reid screamed something, Duvall turned and jumped for cover. And I followed both of their examples. Rolling toward us was what the little "girl" dropped, a tin can, full of holes where nails and metallic sprints poked free, with a large, red, LED beeping light.

Obviously a bomb I assume Sergeant Galdis was too shocked to realize what had happened, because when the ringing came free from my ears, and the sound of screaming dissipated as the crowds ran for cover themselves, we realized that the dear Sergeant had taken the brunt of it. At least 13 nails to the head and chest, plus metal refuse and general burns over his upper half. "Had he been standing where any of you three were, he'd have gotten off as maybe a light shrapnel wound, at worst crippled." Has been the general murmur from the medical examiners. Needless to say we high tailed it back to HQ telling them to man the walls and if a child walked up to them, be ready to kick nail bombs back. Oh, and carrying what was left of our Sergeant back.

So as it stands we're on high alert, I write this to you while peeking over the wall that has been erected, hoping to catch a glimpse of that kid again. I honestly don't know what I'd do. Part of me says blow her away, part of me says try and catch the little runt and ask her why she thought we deserved to die, nailed to the floor. Either way, I'm fine. And I hope to write soon.

Oh! And Karima, its good to hear from you as well, I understand red tape and all. I'm glad to hear you're alright and having fun on the new job, and to tell you the truth I believe I've seen one or two of those in action already. We had scientific officers, you can tell them a mile away, wearing face masks and holding up what look like hand held PAI's with a serious tech upgrade. So far, no interaction but word around is they're helping significantly. Translations in the field and logistics back in HQ are being handled by them and its surprisingly effective. I hope to see you folks again soon, I hope you don't mind me asking but; how's your sister and the rest of your family? Doing well I hope. Last I recall Ziva had gotten a transfer of some sort. Just wanted to make sure everyone was alright.

Chat with you later,

Private First Class Oliver Stefan

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam, O. Roadman

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki,

Good evening ladies and gentlemen,

Apologies for the rapid fire replies but I find myself less and less able to write large bulk letters now, as timing is being monitored and and kept in line, no free time that isn't spent eating, sleeping, drilling, or manning barricades near our HQ. As it turns out our whole operation spans about three city blocks at most, patrols and scouts being sent out further if required. Our job, it seems, is to scour the area designated high crime traffic locations and hope that a regiment of heavily armed marines being used a police keeping force, hasn't already tipped off pirates to get the hell outta dodge. Which subsequently brings me into this week, our first deployment. As it stands we've been getting loads of tips from locals on shady goings on. We bust a door down on an apartment complex to find it filled with minor issues, someone has a drug stash about the size of a small dog. Whoopdie-do, while that manpower and time is wasted there, another batch of kidnapped civvies is sold off to be used as slave labor. So I hope my gripes don't seem to come from no-where.

None the less, this week was our first deployment into the outer reaches of what we call our zone of control, where crime is at least diminished. One of our tips was of a location where late night deals were struck between buyers and sellers. Sellers of what you might ask? Well it varied, one tip said they were an ex-drug addict and used to scamper inside to earn a hit, a few were captured criminals "interrogated" by the local police into giving away that spot, and maybe a handful were people in the surrounding neighborhood reporting the area around that location, "Suddenly and totally becoming emptied of inhabitants that had loved to live there for ages." So as it stood, best training ground to take down. And what struck me, and well everyone else, first; was just how little we understood. The minute we left the pearly gates of our compound we saw what urban centers in this area of the galaxy were like. Buzzing with activity as dozens and hundreds of people flocked to get to their locations, trams running overhead and skyscrapers piercing the sky even higher. Yet down in the slums its as if people were turned to animals, single function at a time, fueled by basic need, animals. Herds and herds, thankfully two squadrons of marines armed to the teeth and lead by our beloved, now Master Sergeant Galdis who screamed as he had never had a mouth before and just wanted to make everyone know his new found ability to vocalize.

It wasn't too far a walk, honestly the worst thing at that point was the smell. A mix of ages of refuse being dropped literally from the sky, the aroma of human excrement having no where else to go, rotten food once peddled as fresh now thrown into overflowing dumpsters, and finally the flavor in the air of what can only be described as death. Not that people around us were dying in droves and that made the place stink, but that what we were seeing and experiencing was the cancer of modern civility, poverty, crime, and violence all pooling together to slowly kill everything at this level. Pardon, was getting a bit metaphysical there, regardless of what we smelled the march took us to the oddest place in the city so far, a quiet location. Honestly full of no noise other than what was far behind us or awaiting on the other side of this block. Soon enough though, we'd split in half and taken to the sidewalks in single file, eyes on our target.

Before the place had gone to hell, it was probably a nice home, three floors high with what appeared to be an old shop in front, warehouse next door that functioned as some sort of industrial storage facility long ago. The warehouse was boarded up and covered in corrugated steel plates to entice looters to royally run off. So our only choice was to enter through the home next door and if need be, blast a hole through to the next door. Which turned out to be unnecessary. Our squad meanwhile, was assigned to guard the street, because, as it seems our intrusion was a surprise, our movements were equally interesting.

Two impromptu kneeling positions were set up, and we set up on both sides, as we were slowly encroached upon by locals wondering why two squads of heavily armed marines needed to kick open dust museums. Duvall and Reid were next to be, as Galdis walked about between the two groups, yelling orders and barking at us to bark at the civvies to keep back. So we did, brandishing shotguns, light machine guns and rifles galore, we called them to step back. Little did we remember, that in these slums, Gutter was the main language and we were essentially spitting in the wind.

Suddenly it all kicks off, Bravo (the folks inside the building) call out that its just a bunch of empty freight containers with "Fuck the Alliance" written on the side in broken Common, and a few empty tin cans. Whatever tips we had were a few decades too late it seems. At that moment the Sergeant got rather uppity and seemed to turn his focus on the group in front of Duvall, Reid and myself. Me in the middle, Reid to my right and Duvall to my left aimed down this barricade at people poorer than dirt rubbernecking our group to see what the heck we were on about.

"Stefan?" Reid asks aloud,

"Yea Reid?" I retort.

"Can you smell these people from under that mask...?" He asks in that cheeky adorable voice of his,

"Yea actually I ca-" and that is about as far as I got.

Sergeant Galdis screamed over our heads in perfect Common for the group of Gutter speaking civvies to get back, brandished his laser pistol, and fired a round into the air, spooking most of them. All but this one girl who I remember fondly. She had dark hair, curly and black and unkempt as was the given, shabby clothes made from some type of burlap and covered in stains, soft features and these dark, foreboding eyes. She was at the business end of the Sergeants' pistol when she simply turned and ran. It was at that time that Reid, Duvall and myself noticed something.. rolling at us, with a soft clinking. Reid screamed something, Duvall turned and jumped for cover. And I followed both of their examples. Rolling toward us was what the little "girl" dropped, a tin can, full of holes where nails and metallic sprints poked free, with a large, red, LED beeping light.

Obviously a bomb I assume Sergeant Galdis was too shocked to realize what had happened, because when the ringing came free from my ears, and the sound of screaming dissipated as the crowds ran for cover themselves, we realized that the dear Sergeant had taken the brunt of it. At least 13 nails to the head and chest, plus metal refuse and general burns over his upper half. "Had he been standing where any of you three were, he'd have gotten off as maybe a light shrapnel wound, at worst crippled." Has been the general murmur from the medical examiners. Needless to say we high tailed it back to HQ telling them to man the walls and if a child walked up to them, be ready to kick nail bombs back. Oh, and carrying what was left of our Sergeant back.

So as it stands we're on high alert, I write this to you while peeking over the wall that has been erected, hoping to catch a glimpse of that kid again. I honestly don't know what I'd do. Part of me says blow her away, part of me says try and catch the little runt and ask her why she thought we deserved to die, nailed to the floor. Either way, I'm fine. And I hope to write soon.

Oh! And Karima, its good to hear from you as well, I understand red tape and all. I'm glad to hear you're alright and having fun on the new job, and to tell you the truth I believe I've seen one or two of those in action already. We had scientific officers, you can tell them a mile away, wearing face masks and holding up what look like hand held PAI's with a serious tech upgrade. So far, no interaction but word around is they're helping significantly. Translations in the field and logistics back in HQ are being handled by them and its surprisingly effective. I hope to see you folks again soon, I hope you don't mind me asking but; how's your sister and the rest of your family? Doing well I hope. Last I recall Ziva had gotten a transfer of some sort. Just wanted to make sure everyone was alright.

Chat with you later,

Private First Class Oliver Stefan

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To: A. Delrico, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, N. Khayyam,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Dearest Friends,

We've been on high alert for the better part of a month now, as it stands I've only just got time to write as we've been doing our best to keep down civil discourse. The general population has turned from admiring the Marines boldly holding back the hoard of pirates and scum, to hating us. Now a days we spend our time on the wall watching for anyone who decides to venture too close, as most of the city and indeed most of the planet has turned sour to the garrisons of Marines peppered around the rock. So our standing orders are to fortify our position and hold till ordered further. Kind of ironic we come here as peace keepers and we're turning into an occupation force. For the local populace, the individuals that built the city from the base layers all the way up to the towers that can be considered space elevators, are slowly becoming agitated with those at the top of the skypiercers who payed for the top half of the buildings.

So here we stand, rather, huddle. Together at a run down inn in the worst part of this god-forsaken city surrounded by people that would rather throw fire bombs at our walls than give us a hello. We've already had issues, one quartermaster intercepted a package meant for the company Colonel, opened it to inspect it and got a throat full of poison. Gas grenades with a simple string attached to the lid. Poor man. So as of this week we're out a total of 6 Marines from various squads, abysmal for what was supposed to be an easy operation.

I think I saw one of your AI's piloting a mech today Karima, it was what looked like an upgraded Durand we've grown to call the Goliath. We had an up close and personal informational meeting with the officer involved in overseeing its operations.

"It has little to no morals, it is designed to hunt enemies of the Alliance and terminate or subdue them.." he began, "Do don't go off hitting it with the butt of your rifle or it might try and turn against you."

[PARAGRAPH REDACTED DUE TO LEAKS IN MILITARY TECHNOLOGY, PLEASE CONSULT THE COMPANY CENSOR AS PER REASONS TO WHY YOUR MESSAGE WAS CENSORED. FIRST STRIKE]

and that is about the gist of its equipment, quite a large mech with quite a large load out. I sincerely hope we don't have to start using it for anything besides pure intimidation, because crowded streets and a large mech is a beautiful way to land a squad in hot water when RPG's start flying. I hope for the best but.. unsure as to how things are going to turn out. I'll write as soon as I'm able. Chat with you later, please try and write back if you don't mind. Drills and training gets boring and not a lot of folks want to talk much. It's come down to sharpening bayonets and readying magazines for scouting missions. Conversation is a bit downplayed. OH! And I got promoted. After the Sergeant ate a face full of shrapnel, the whole ladder of command got yanked up a few pegs and now I'm filling in as acting Lance Corporal of my squad. Still an enlisted man though so pay is still regular. Hope to hear from you soon.

-L.Cpl. Oliver Stefan

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Hi Ollie,

Sorry my replies was quite tardied. I have been going through some things back home.

All I have to say is...wow. Simply wow. I have no words for what you are going through. It's something I can't quite comprehend. It's something I can't even start to dream about. I hope you are doing well, especially with your condition.

I am doing not so fine myself, but I am worried about you my friend. I'm sorry I don't have much to say.

But I do want to meet up with you after you're done. Have a nice drink, and just forget the issues of the world.

Waiting for you to return, my friend.

Sam

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To: A. Delrico, A. Santana, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim, O. Roadman

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki,

Good Day Ladies and Gentlemen,

Sorry for my tardiness but as it stands things have gone from bad to far, far worse. The problems have arisen from the locals slowly getting more and more against us. Something about another garrison screwing up royally when they assisted the local police in the raid of a tenement house apparently housing criminals. Problems arose when half of the housing unit ended up riddled with lead, and most of the civvies with it, so our welcome has totally soured to plain disgust. The largest group is the workforce, mostly factory workers, who feel us being here is a sign of oppression, as an occupation force. Secondly is the Local police who feel we're stealing their job and not allowing them to, "Run it their way" I.E batoning anyone who speaks up. Next, apparently the city has become the rooting place of some type of religious group, zealots and extremists who have deemed us, hang on, allow me to quote this directly from a pamphlet dropped on us from a n overhead walkway. "Unworthy of life and devoid of the required fortitude in our souls to be allowed to continue living." And they will, and again I quote, "Destroy the cancerous heathenish evil that is the Alliance." Goddamn Mormons. Regardless, we're trying our best to keep sane.

Yet this is somewhat hindered as scouts have been getting harassed more and more, to the point of armed conflict in the streets. How do I know? Well our squad was one of the first to head out and get hit by some kind folks with a pension for home made explosives. I should clear that up. So, in the block or so that we have control of, there is a large courtyard that pretty much is a haven for anyone off duty. Officers and enlisted mix from time to time and apparently when one of the squad (Not me) insulted an officer by saying his wife is probably cheating on him with produce (again not me) that officer can then request we be transferred to the most active assignment on the planet. The only reason we're still not trucking behind an APC or inside a truck is because of an issue that occurred about two weeks after my last letter.

It was at least our third time out when it happened, our squad along with a logistics officer with a truck full of local riot police in a convoy. Sergeant Brass orders me onto the machine gun topside once we leave the barricade, nothing too dangerous. I'm usually surrounded by two inch metal plating and if anything goes wrong I can simply duck and be back inside the compartment. Orders are to keep a 360 swivel and make sure no one is popping out of windows to throw more goddamn pamphlets at us. But about halfway through the patrol, mind you its nearly midnight so the city has died down greatly, the driver says through the radio that there's a kid in the way. orders are to keep inching forward till the kid moves, I turn and sure enough there's a kid there. Couldn't have been older than 6, and we start inching towards it, the APC bellows its horn and the kid scampers off. That second, from my right I hear someone scream, "Death to the Alliance." Or some other cliche shit and I turn the gun in time to see a scrawny bastard toss a booze bottle at the truck behind us. Instant blaze. The screams come to open up with the HMG, and the cocktail thrower is down. Next thing I know the area is light up with the sound of gunfire, and orders are to spray and pray when it comes to that. Civvies want to house rebellious asshats, they can reap the consequences. From below I hear the Sergeant scream at the driver to floor it, the driver yells back. Everyone is screaming and that's about the time that a hefty tin can hit me over the head. We're told that's being filled with gunpowder and a fuse set up. It lands just at my feet and I drop down to grab it and throw it out. The problem is, their fuses are unreliable and go off pretty randomly so I get it out and over the metal walls as it goes off.

I don't remember much after that, Reid says I flew back into the compartment and got knocked the hell out, and by the time we got back they'd realized my left hand (The one I used to toss the nade out.) Was covered in blood, thinking I'd lost something important, they got me into medical and, well, simply put I'm missing something. Not hugely important, my left pinkie and part of my hand. More than enough to stay functional but, it looks a bit off. Makes typing a bit off and a few actions are a bit odd. Anyway, I'll chat later, I need to get these bandages cleaned. I hope everyone is doing well. Good to hear from you Sam.

-Oliver

[nbielinski]

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"INCOM_DNS_OSTEFAN.PDF"

Dearest, [see Lieutenant Addendum I]

It is with a heavy heart that I, as head of the 417th Engineering Section, inform you that Lance Corporal Oliver Stefan along with his and another squad, are now considered Missing In Action. Lance Corporal Stefan was lost after vicious fighting upon [see Lieutenant Addendum II.] Once political angst was calmed after the death of a Sol Alliance Representative and the planets total inclusion into the Alliance several weeks later, the entirety of the 417th was, indeed, shifted further from the core regions. Approximately three weeks ago, several cargo ships carrying Marines and military personnel, Mr. Stefan included. Were engaged by what appeared to be a modified cargo frigate, which attempted to destroy the military vessels, to which the Marines aboard were ordered to dispatch and mount the enemy craft, in the hopes of requisitioning the vehicle for better transport within sectors. Regardless, due to circumstances beyond the control of the Marines, we are unable to properly identify by what means the pirate crew managed to spool up their FTL drive and fire. But we are almost positive that it was not totally completed and repaired.

From what we can gather between saved radio communications and testimony from pilots and flight crew upon the troop transports, the enemy ship was breached upon in the aft port and starboard in the hopes of knocking out the FTL drives of the ship. After a lengthy battle and what was assumed to be a victory, holdouts had moved into the engine room with either the hopes of causing the drives to go critical and detonate, or, in the hopes that a warp from their location would put them within friendly space. After this, we are almost positive the FTL was partially spooled up, but damaged part way through. Causing the ship to veer off in an unknown direction. Sadly, we are as of yet, unsure where or when the ship emerged from its path, or indeed if it was able to stop at all. Efforts to find the ship and its crew have been, as of yet, totally unsuccessful. We will attempt to keep you posted through these trying times. Thank you.

Lieutenant Logan Black,

1st Engineering Section

417th Alliance Marines.

[Lieutenant Addendum I]: I know Oliver talked about having someone to write to, but going through his records. Mother dead, father dead. No one. If we can get someone down in the censorship department to find out who he was writing to, maybe we can actually send this out instead of leaving whomever it was to hang.

[Lieutenant Addendum II]: Till the Alliance is ready to officially regard what happened on that hellhole as justified and acceptable, we won't be mentioning names. Hopefully they either find the man so we don't have to start telling people about it.

[CENSOR ADDENDUM]: While the Lieutenant seems adamant to wait patiently for Mr. Oliver and the remainder of the squads to simply materialize from Blue Space, we have a time table to keep. Give it a year, two, tops. If within that time he is likely not found, send a revised copy of this manuscript as well as the letter of considered demise.

[nbielinski]

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To: A. Delrico, K. Mo'Taki, L. Conally, L. Green, N. Hakim,

P. Essel, S. Helosi, S. Mason, Y. Hall, Z. Mo'Taki

Dearest Ladies and Gentlemen,

I am alive, or, mostly alive. More like, sitting in a hospital bed on board a Navy medical frigate being checked

over for malnutrition and a few other smaller issues. I should really try to explain what happened, but it feels

like its been more than half a year ago. I don't really understand totally what happened when the FTL shot us

into space but all I do know is, time went by a lot slower out here than it felt in there. By what I can remember

we were stuck somewhere for maybe four months worth of time. I feel like we didn't age a day and from what

I understand, its only been about a month or two since we went missing. Surprising to say the least, but, I should

really explain how I ended up in that situation.

It started just after we got rotated back to pirate hunting, we moved on smaller transport ships that accompanied

the larger freighters and destroyers. This time, it was a tiny cargo freighter and three transports carrying us.

That just had to be the day we got hit. They targeted the cargo freighter first, took out her engines first and

when our pilots all drove headfirst, ready to drop us on board. Main objective was to kill the raiding bastards

and secondary was to hopefully keep the ship in tact. Spoils of war and all that. It wasn't a bad ship to be honest

it'd been a dry-dock work up of at least four different freighters and one combat frigate. Deck guns were minimal

but it had two primary guns that hit hard when it came to raiding. Anyway, we landed; our squad, and two others.

Standard breaching procedure, had we known what awaited us on that ship. I think we'd have turned tail and taken

our chances floating off into space.

Within seconds we'd found a shoddy bit of hull plating, busted it open, and made our way inside. There was me, carrying

my tools and a carbine, Dan with a light machine gun, Jason with a compact sub machine gun, Reid with a street sweeper

semi-auto shotgun, Whuping carried up the rear with a rifle, Duvall came in last with his sidearm and medical kit. Lastly

was Corporal Buck, carrying a compact carbine and telling us to keep calm and remember to watch the corridors. We did,

the crew was barely any resistance. Some had tools trying to fight us, some had sidearms. One bastard, Unathi if I remember,

had a chain gun. Was a lot of show and spinning up mixed with a lot of insults. Took two squad to finally put enough rounds

in his hide to finish him off. And that was that. We'd cleared the main bulkhead, Bravo was clearing the mid ship area, and

Charlie was clearing the engine and cargo compartments.

We all knew something was wrong when the ship suddenly lurched forward, engines now blazing. We ran to the helm and tried

to disable them, but someone was trying to over work them. Looking back, it was probably a few hold outs trying to make

the engine go critical and turn the ship to cinders. Didn't really work. All they managed to do was set the FTL to spool before

getting shot themselves. It fired before any of us could stop it. Half way to spooling we'd been fired off in a random direction.

We rounded up what was left of the crew and had them all shot. Frankly, we were acting on anger. The engine was broken

but still firing us forward, none of us understood how to stop it. Charlie had one intelligence officer but he'd been shot.

It took three days before he was back awake and looking into the engine.

I don't remember much of the first few days. Funny enough, that was when we all tried to keep the most calm. "Don't worry

we'll run out of power and stop." We all believed. There was enough freeze dried food to last us maybe a month or two.

More if we kept rationing to a maximum, but we didn't. Not until at least the third week when we all started to wonder

and question what the hell we were still doing aboard the tub. Most of us tried not to ask the intelligence officer,

each day he seemed more and more distraught. Pacing, talking to himself, getting angry and bursting out at someone

for trivial things. I don't remember when we found him. But it was at least after a month of sitting aboard the ship.

Someone yelled down the corridor for Duvall, our medic. We all came of course, wanted to make sure they were alright.

There he was. Older, black-ish hair, pale. He'd taken his sidearm out and blown his head off in front of a Private from

Charlie. Poor bastard. He'd realized something we didn't and wanted out. We all did. But not that way.

It was half way into the second month that food ran out. Their hydroponic bay had been barely repaired but we didn't have

much to go on. Some seeds left over and a bit of water to spare. Started growing whatever we could in the hopes it would

come up soon. Someone from Bravo kept an eye on everything, making sure it grew correctly. At this point Charlie was down

to maybe half a dozen Marines, perhaps less. Their entire outfit was quiet, many of them hadn't eaten. Morale for them was low.

We had Buck though, and each other. If one of us wasn't in good spirits, someone tried to keep them up. Charlie though,

they were in a bad way, and needed to get out. It took another week of everyone getting hungry till a Sergeant from Charlie

strapped up into his hardsuit and moved to an airlock. We all came to try and stop him, when we did he turned and opened

fire with his SMG, took down three of his own men before leaping out. They still haven't found his body.

Finally we got food, potatoes and turnips. Plain. Chalky and awful but we ate it anyway. That was probably a month and

four weeks in. Two months in, someone from Charlie finally came up to us and said the morgue was empty. The morgue

was our own little creation. A six foot by four foot room used for general cargo, we'd used to place the bodies of the lost.

We all came to find it was empty. Aside from some outfits and uniforms. Reid chuckled, "Suicide pact if its zombies."

And we all sort of laughed, most of us afraid he might be right. What if we'd all been killed, and this was our hell.

And zombies were our next damnation. It only became clear when Bravo lost someone that something was up. No one

would willingly just walk out on us without saying anything. No airlocks had been cycled and no suits had been taken.

We scoured the ship till we found the hidden compartment.

Apparently it was used for smuggling contraband prior to the inclusion of it as this pirate freighter. Now, we all peered in.

I was near the front with Reid, Dan and McKnight. We walked in to what I can only say was the most putrid smelling,

hole of death I have ever seen. And there, in the back was a pile of bones. Picked clean. Bite marks. We knew what this was

before he came out of the shadows at me. He was human, dirty tan, scrubby beard that was covered in red stains. Clothes had

been almost totally torn apart. He'd been in a corner when we came in, and in our stupidity we forgot to watch all around.

He came at me with a machete. Probably what he used to carve the bodies. And took a hard swipe at my left arm, took a

chunk out of it. I screamed and fire with my right. He was down in a spray of bullets. In his left hand was a primed grenade.

We think he planned to die. Maybe we were the grim reaper, coming to finish him off. And he just didn't want to go without

company.

The bulkhead collapsed in around us and pinned me to a wall. Dan was knocked out by a girder. Jason tended to Dan,

Reid came over and tried to free me. It was stuck hard against the hull. We were losing oxygen. The emergency shutter

was down. Jason and McKnight were trying to lift it. I knew it would be open for a short while, and the room would be airless

in a moment. My sidearm looked mighty inviting but in the end I went for my hacksaw and started at it. Wasn't fun and

I passed out when I got free. From what I understand, we got out. I got bandaged up. And the ship started to buckle from the

blast. And there we were. All thinking we'd hit the dead end and this was it.

Duvall tells me I was out but I heard the explosion. It rocked the floor and took half the ship apart. It sounded like metal being

torn apart like paper, electricity went out. And the ship shook as it was pulled from our FTL Hell. I'd never been happier to see

the endless void of nothing. It only took about four to five days for a roving band of traders to find us. We promised a reward

if they got us back to the Sol Alliance in one piece. We all had theories. What if there was no alliance left. What if we'd all

end up museum pieces from who knows how long ago. They told us the date. We called them liars. We got pulled back and

told the date by a commanding officer. We didn't need to be redundant.

That's just about the end of it. I got honorably put on medical reserve as a not-so-able bodied Marine. We were all so glad

to be alive, the good-bye for now wasn't tearful at all. Being fitted for a prosthetic left arm and leg now. Hopefully

its not too bulky and awkward. And hopefully its not god damn pink. Regardless, that's the story. Most of what I remember.

I'll be coming back to the Aurora soon enough, I look forward to that drink, Sam. Talk to you all soon.

-Oliver.