EVE Fiction

 
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"Anchor" EON Entry [A Day in the Life]

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#1 - 2012-11-18 12:01:18 UTC
Sitting next to the slender and bulbous behemoth that was an Erebus-class titan, Arkea always had that deep, rapid beating feeling in her chest. When the comm chatter had lessened, and the Fleet Commander had gone silent as he interpreted the information being fed to him through his secret channels, the agonizing anticipation waited for her. The waiting, a torture in itself, before the trap would be sprung and their victim would go down in flames as long as everything fell within the calculated risks.

Every time it was the same. No matter how many traps they had sprung, or how many traps they would continue to plan and execute, each and everyone carried with it this anxiety that she felt. Invigorated, scared, excited. A number of emotions flaring in her mind and body, an exhilarating rush for the taste of battle.

All of which would have been different if she hadn’t been sitting inside the Basilisk-class logistics ship, with seven more pilots within close reach to keep the fleet from harm. Not to mention also giving them the opportunity to give their fleet a chance of victory. It was their task to save their friends from harm, it was their mission to make sure the fleet came back home in one piece. Every call-to-arms, every roam, every defense fleet, Arkea found herself inside a logistics ship, or as everyone and their mother affectionately called them, 'logis'.

Of course, par of the course of being a logi pilot, one had to discard the luxury of getting registered on kills, unless reasons were given. Arkea tended to -- against her own policies -- sneak a drone here and there while helping her comrades, but only as far as the situation allowed it. She would never allow that craving that all capsuleers branded in battle and fire has for kills impede her effectiveness in the field.

After all, the reward that counted for logi pilots were two: Victory and appreciation. A kill was a bonus, but a very good, very convincing bonus.

"Everyone, be ready. Keep at range at titan and wait for bridge."

Her fleet commander spoke with that slight edge in his voice she knew so well. He had found something, moving an inch closer to his victim every second that passed. This was the most crucial moment, the time when everything could go wrong. The bait would die before bridge, the enemy would warp away... or the titan would jump instead of bridge the fleet, leaving it free to die in the hands of the enemy.

It had happened before. Many titans had met their demise at the hands of a pilot that at the curical moment had authorized the wrong command due to stress and confusion. Arkea sincerely hoped it wouldn't happen this time. The days before this evening had been boring and uneventful, with no action whatsoever. She had waited with glee to join a fight again.

In an instant, the entire fleet was enveloped in a blue, bright light originating from the titan. She knew this color well and her heart jumped in her chest. Adrenaline made its entrance into her veins, preparing both body and mind for what was to come.

Showtime.

"Jump, jump, jump!"

Red cynosaural explosions surrounded her as ship after ship went through the diabolical blue portal. She jumped once the queue had cleared and waited for that sensation that ocurred each and every time. Her brain would drag, her senses becoming distorted before returning to normal, her ship ending up in another place.

And it was over in an eye blink. She found herself in the middle of a hostile fleet with one single comrade under complete lockdown; the baitship, already bleeding into deep armor.

"Anchor up, anchor up, primaries broadcasted, secondaries broadcasted, focus fire on primaries, gogogo!"

Laser beams, projectiles, missiles. Though space was so big, it was all one big blob from her perspective and it tended to confuse her as she tried to get her bearings. She glanced at her watchlist and immediately locked up her cap buddies along with the baitship. At times like this, seconds didn't count. Milliseconds, the very reflexes of her body, did. Half a second too long, be it by hesitation or confusion, would see the fleet with one less ship, one number, a mere statistic in the greater whole, but a morale hit for her logis.

A blue light warped from her ship when she acquired lock and she saw the shield of the baitship go up, with only ten percent structure left, and she started to move away from the hostile fleet, As more and more logis acquired their lock, the shield built at a steady pace, which spelled trouble.

The hostile fleet wasn't focusing on it anymore.
#2 - 2012-11-18 12:01:34 UTC
"Primary down, secondary is primary, broadcasted."

The job of every logi anchor at the start of a fight is to make sure their logis are safe from enemy fire. From the moment they had jumped in until now, four seconds had passed and she found herself way too close for comfort. There had been hesitation, true, but she wouldn't let herself wallow in excuses now. She had to focus, removing her logis from the enemy's grasp. Gaining distance became a top priority.

She kept a nervous eye at the broadcasts coming, none of which were from her logis. She allowed herself a breath of relief, made sure the others were following her with their microwarpdrives activated, and got to work on the broadcasts. Blue light originated from every single Basilisk and Scimitar in a long train of ships distancing itself from the battle.

While she locked up those in need, reps holding for the moment, she manually modified her flight path to stay away from the hostile fleet, but in range of her fleet commander calling the targets. All of their comrades were flying in a blob around him, with, for once, few stragglers. It made her work easier to handle since no one was out of range and required little additional maneuvering. It meant she could focus upon those in need and minimize any distractions.

Each broadcast that came through was swiftly dealt with. In a battle like this, shield-based logis showed their supremacy as the reps landed immediately. No one that broadcasted, as far as Arkea could see, went down in flames, in comparison to the enemy. It was a swift, brutal and without remorse slaughter, even if their numbers were even. Bright explosions and resulting debris clouded the battle, bouncing against her shields.

A textbook example of how a fleet fight is conducted.

As she orbited from a distance, keeping her cool and chatting amongst her logi comrades in their own private channel, she watched the battle continue as more interdiction bubbles went up, preventing the enemy from making an escape. Dying fires covered the space they occupied. Missiles that had lost their target went haywire, spiralling out into empty space. She could hear her fleet commander starting to calm down, the intensity and speed of his orders slowing down as the enemy numbers dwindled. It devolved into a turkey shoot, a challenge to see how many they could before the enemy left.

Nevertheless, Arkea didn't let up her guard. New Eden always had surprises in every system, in every battle. It's what got you killed, thinking it was over, dealt with. That the enemy had given up, running with their tail between their legs.

It was the last part that worried her. When a fleet was outmatched, she knew by experience that they would try and make a run for it, leave anyone that was tackled behind so others could live another day.

Not so now. The enemy fleet didn't try to break free. They stayed where they were, letting themselves get pummeled into oblivion. Something was wrong.

Two minutes passed and she discovered she was right. An Arazu-class recon decloaked a little more than five klicks from her position, putting her and her logis in-between the cyno and the battle. It took her a few seconds to realize, with staggering horror, what was about to happen as the Arazu lit a cynosaural field.

One. Two. Five. Ten. Twelve red-orange explosions in space blinded her for a short moment and her overview spiked. Hostile reinforcements had arrived, but it wasn't a secondary battleship fleet. They were too few for that.

It was something much worse.
#3 - 2012-11-18 12:01:45 UTC
Archons and Thanatoses emerged from the blinding light. Hundreds of fighters were released from their inner sanctums. Doom and destruction spiralled towards them.

Arkea panicked, throwing her Basilisk around, away from impending doom. She activated her microwarpdrive and ran, her speed climbing. She had to get away from the carriers and their offspring. None of them had locked her, yet, but she saw, with startling realization, that several of the logis supposed to follow her had been left behind, broadcasts coming through. Brain activity spiking, she locked them all up and tried to keep them alive, for naught. Their shields melted, their armor crushed, within seconds of the fighters unleashing their firepower.

"Disengage! Warp off, warp off! ****! Where the hell did they come from?"

The commander's words were way too late. The fleet caught in their own bubbles, she could only watch as her reps became useless, ship after ship exploding in fire extinguished in the blink of an eye by the vacuum. Red colored her watch list, alarmed and panicked voices throwing their comms into chaos. Orders became mangled and distorted as the enemy fleet regrouped, regaining new strength from their newly arrived friends.

Arkea aligned out, because it was now a race to save herself. When reps become useless, so does the logis. Their job is done, their purpose spent. They can't function in a battle where reps can't hold. There was nothing they could do but watch, a torture in itself.

She hated to admit something like that. With most of her fellow logis dead and the fleet in disarray she had no choice but to turn and run, warp away to safety and leave everyone behind; to regroup and escape at a later time.

She didn't get the chance.

The unmistakable noise and her ship's reaction spoke of a warp scrambler. Her microwarpdrive died without a sound, her speed dropping. Several carriers locked her up, then become blinking reds, and their fighters focused upon her. She glared at the lone interceptor that had sneaked up on her in the midst of battle and had now decided to take action.

She had been through this moment many times before. Each was different, yet exactly the same. The situation varied, but the result and feeling was the same as always; dread, acknowledgment. Rage.

Rage, more than anything. The fight had been theirs. It had been their victory.

Her shields lasted for some time, much to her surprise. When it was gone, her armor disappeared within two seconds, the structure following. Alarms blared, several at once as the ship couldn't notify her fast enough of the fate she already knew.

Blinded by a flash, she then found herself in her pod, floating free, but surrounded by a bubble with no chance to escape.

Someone locked her and started shooting. She didn't even care about who it was. Death was a natural event in life and she would return someday, to this very place, and shoot these carriers that had made certain of her death. When that time came, it would be different. New Eden had its way of repaying those who gave their lives in battle.

She promised herself that it would be just that. Different. Revenge.

Light broke through the pod's thin membrane and everything turned to darkness for the event nicknamed by capsuleers as 'a mere inconvenience'.
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