So I'm going up for having liquor in my barracks room. The person who was inspecting my room asked me at that moment "do you still want to be in the navy?" I told him no. When I got the counseling chit I was required to make a statement about why I said that. The last time I was at (unofficial) drb I learned that it doesn't matter what you say. Would it be in my benefit to exercise my 5th ammendment right and not do say anything during my drb? If one does choose to remain silent does that go for the whole thing like if I stay silent at drb have I now chosen to stay silent for xoi and mast? And if not would it be bad for me to say nothing at the drb but not the xoi?
Edit: so the general advice here is to speak at DRB own what I did and accept the consequences. One more question about Drb is can I possibly do anything to limit the chiefs ability to take things I say out of context and attempt to get me in more trouble? Also how to answer the question "why did you do it" without saying exactly why you did it and then receiving a response like "stop making exuses" or "stop lying "

4thWall here. Hope all of you are having a fantastic evening.
If you like this Universe we are diving into together, and feel I have earned it, consider supporting The Black on Patreon. Patreon Members get access to In Cannon Lore and Short stories. As always, just comin to hang out is always enough!
If this is your first episode reading The Black, WELCOME! We love to have ya! Feel free to begin where it all started!
First, Previous
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“We got incoming!!!”
The frantic yell from the Cockpit snatched the attention of everyone in the less than smoothly ascending shuttle.
Alex Collins quickly stepped toward the shuttle’s cockpit door, still in his armor but with his helmets face plate open. “From where.” His crips tone left little in the way of conversationalism.
“177 by 228. I pushed out departure to give the stragglers from the hospital time… Now we have become the stragglers. The rest of the shuttles are inside fighter cover, we are…” The man sputtered.
“Out of formation… Give us everything you can Lieutenant. Link me into the coms and get me Tharsis.” Collins ordered, quickly receiving the tell-tale beep from his suit.
*USN Tharsis, Please state your…*
“This is Captain Alex Collins. I and multiple injured are on the last hospital shuttle from the surface. I need..” Collins paused as the first impact from incoming fire slammed into the shuttles shields. “I need immediate cover, we have incoming. I repeat, enemy fighters incoming I need immediate co…”
Collins was interrupted by a crackle on the radio and a strange double voice that sounded both male and female.
*Transmitting shuttle. Immediate turn 338 by 075, hard burn, no delay* the resonate double tone stated with a firmness that left the shuttle pilot responding even before the transmission was complete. The maneuver bore immediate fruit as a pair of plasma charges sailed wide flaring the shields only slightly as they glanced off instead of impacting directly.
*Unidentified transmission, this is a secure frequency. Identify yourself immediately! * came the irate response from Tharsis. There came no immediate response, but Collins closed his helmet and linked his hud with the shuttle’s full spectrum sensors just in time to see a pair of vanta black shapes streak past the shuttle burning hard the opposite direction. Moments later a salvo of no less than 8 missiles streaked out, quickly producing their own puffs of violence as the Heat seeking missiles found their target. Collins was still trying to figure out who were his unexpected benefactors when the pair of stealth fighters slipped up alongside the shuttle in close formation.
*We are Ivar and Martina Tras in command of USN Sombra and USN R’Cari. Incoming threats neutralized. Shuttle, you may return to course, you have us the rest of the way.* came that strange resonating double voice. The shuttle pilot slowly arced his course back toward Tharsis before looking out to stare at the shuttle’s Salvation. The void born wraiths kept pace easily, effortlessly loping along beside the shuttle until the three of them reached the shuttle.
Tharsis quickly cleared all three of them into the hanger bay containing the rest of the shuttles and a few of the Raptors that had defended them. Alex lumbered down the shuttles ramp last, shaking the hand of the shuttle pilot who had risked everything to give him time to get everyone out. The two Stealth fighters landed astride the shuttle. They were very obviously bigger than the mix of Raptors and Rangers that made up Tharsis hybrid complement. Two figures exited the crafts, ignoring the ladder and simply dropping to the ground in the lighter “galactic standard” gravity that all ships in this part of space used to accommodate as many species as possible. Dozer, all 500 lbs of him and armor in normal gravity, had to watch his steps lest he vault himself to the ceiling.
Ivar and Martina retracted their helmets, faces etched in shock at the sight of Collins, “Dozer?!” Martina exclaimed sprinting over to him for a quick hug. Ivar smirked as he followed behind, giving the man a quick handshake. They had both met Alex shortly after Celest was towed back to Delmar space.
“Well, Shit. Dozer, you were in that thing?” He followed up. Noticing the other pilots slowly walking over to see the new arrivals. It was about a eighty/ twenty split, Human and Delmar; and it made Ivar smile internally seeing more of his people joining the elite ranks of beings capable of flying Human starfighters. For the first time in memory, Delmar had iterated on their venerable Ranger design. The “Ranger 23” looked almost identical to its predecessor, but it was built to more… Human… performance tolerances. The number of his people who had successfully undergone the grueling and dangerous training to push themselves this far were few, but their numbers were slowly growing.
“Unfortunately, how the hell did you even get here. I thought you were off galivanting around the edge of the system.” Collins asked.
“We’ve been watching the whole thing. The moment we saw what was happening, Captain Grarzia, Cory, released us on ahead. We can move fast when we want to, but we almost didn’t make it.” Ivar explained before being tackled by one of the Delmar pilots.
“Holy Shit, McLovin! Where did you burn in from!” Ja’krin, one of the original 2 pilots that had met Mac in the air those years ago playfully grappled with Ivar for a moment before relenting with a manhug.
“Ja’k? Where did you come from!” Ivar’s surprise made the younger man chuckle. “I thought you were still 303.”
“Oh I am,” Ja’krin answered, “but the call came out, and I got my 8 H.G. rating a few days prior. I’m attached to Tharsis until this whole mess with Rawkir is dealt with.”
“Buzz, this your old commander?” one of the Human pilots, with captain’s insignia on his uniform, stepped up.
“Captain,” Ja’krin snapped off a quick salute, “Yup, Ivar Tras. The crazy motherfucker who lead 303 during the Devoted attack. McLovin here was the first of us 303 boys to make the cut. Ivar, meet Captain Horace “Howler” Alveretti. I’de say he is the crazies Human I know, but I’ve met BigMac so….” Ja’krin grinned as two or three humans snorted in unison, including the captain.”
“Nice to meet you, Captain.” Ivar nodded to the man, “how did you make out with the rest of the shuttles.”
“We lost one, 15 souls. Vorath asshole got clipped on his way in and decided to Kamikaze. Other than that, we made out alright. Buzz here got his fourth and fifth victory. Your boys an ace now.” Horace answered with solemn nods all around.
“My condolences, Captain. Dozer, did you know any of them?” Ivar asked, clamping a hand on the shoulder plate of Collin’s armor
“No, I was sent to help evacuate. I lost a man, Bruce my grenadier, but he never made it to the shuttle.” Alex offered. “I should go, I need to check in with Command, and pay a visit... Thanks for the Save Ivar, I owe you something expensive and high proof.”
“You don’t, but I’ll drink it all the same.” Ivar shook Alex’s hand before the massive armor laden Marine lumbered off.
“So, Buzz huh? How did that happen.” Ivar asked Ja’krin.
“Howler got me drunk, then I had a…. small incident with a trimmer.” Ja’krin blushed slightly at Ivar’s confusion.
“Your hair grew back nicely enough.” Ivar offered.
“Uh… That’s not where the Trimmer accident happened…” Ja’krin said with a resigned laugh. Martina broke down into a burst of snorting giggled and Ivar’s eyes widened as he put it together before being overcome by a belly laugh.
“That’ll do it. Common, Let’s get some grub.” Ivar offered upon regaining control of himself, “I haven’t had anything hot to eat today. Let me just get settled with the Deck Chief.”
“Would love to, we’ll go find us a table, meet you in the mess,” Ja’krin turned to Martina.
“It’s a plan, I’m starving!” she admitted. “Common, I need all the details. Ace and all. Madre’ You’ve been busy.” She began as they headed for the mess.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Centarus sat on the bridge of his flag ship. His captain was proving his worth, two more Delmar heavy cruisers had fallen to his guns, and one of those Human destroyers had been driven from the field by his flag ship alone. The Human vessels were annoyingly using the planet itself as an emplacement, forcing his vessels to crest the horizon to push their advance. It was slow going, but now he had what he needed to recover his kin on the ground. “Send the shuttles, Message the troops. Initiate Insidias protocol and Prepare for Transport.”
“Received and confirmed, Centarus. Shuttles have departed.” The communications crewmen reported. Centarus watched the shuttles descend, covered by his new formations and the screen and the combined surviving fighters from both fleets. He could see the reconnaissance data showing the patrol routes of the enemy fighters. They were protecting their own forces, but no longer venturing into enemy airspace. Something was off. He had seen those fighters in action. He knew what they were capable of… ‘I don’t like this’. “Sensors, give me a long-range scan. As deep as you can go into the void.” He rumbled. It would take time for the scan to run, and get an update on the possible incoming fleet. Until then, He focused on culling more of his enemy from orbit.
He could find none… It was as if the Unity and Human fleets were hiding. Over the next few hours, his flag ship discharged its main armament less than a dozen times, and Centarus watched as a steady stream of shuttles pulled his troops and what resources he could acquire from the planet’s surface. His plan was going well. It would not be long before he was ready to cripple the planets ecosystem and depart. It was not a successful invasion, but denying Rawkir’s manufacturing and technological base to the Unity would give his expeditionary forces the breathing room to solidify their footholds until the main fleet arrived. Still, something gnawed at the back of his mind. After the grueling combat he had experienced at the hands of the Humans, this felt too easy.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Alex Collins stepped into Tharsis’ infirmary turned triage ward. The walking wounded stood, sat, or lay in the waiting area being tended to by some of the nurses, while the beds were filled with the more critical patients. Collins walked slowly through the mass of ruined bodies, many of them were Kawmawri, but more than a few Delmar and Human wounded lay scattered about the ward along with a sprinkling of other unity species. The man he was searching for was in neither of these groups, and Alex quietly snagged a male nurse who was between patients, “Excuse me, I’m looking for a Soldier. He came in with the last shuttle, punctured lung and an energy wound to his right side.”
“I’m sorry captain, I don’t recognize him as one of the patients. You may… You may need to try the Morgue, we lost more than a few in the shuttle during the evacuation.” The man said before heading off toward the waiting area to triage more patients. Alex nodded his thanks, heading toward the back of the infirmary. Stepping through the door, he expected to ask an orderly to see a body. Instead, he found the man he was looking for. He was sitting in a wheelchair in the corner staring blankly into nothing while a familiar bloody dog tag idly spun in his hand. He looked up with the sound of the door, recognizing The Hulking Marine who was still in his armor, although with his helmet completely off at this point. “Captain.” The man, in fresh scrubs, spun his wheelchair to face Alex and gave off a somewhat labored salute.
“As you were. I wanted to thank you.” Alex started, pullin up a chair and settling into it. “You tried to save Bruce, he was one of mine.”
“I know, Captain Collins. Bruce was ecstatic to be given a suit. He always said it made him feel like a real life Space Marine.” The man said sadly, eyes losing focus in the painful memory. “We met when we were 6. I’ve known him my whole life.”
“You’re Reaux.” Alex stated, “He spoke highly of you, ‘despite being army’. His words. He told me he was going to see you that morning. I didn’t put together though.” The Marine put a hand on the shoulder of the Soldier as he turned back to staring at the bloody dog tags in his hand.
“I told him not to come. I told him that I was fine, and I would buy him a beer orbit side… He refused, brought me a pack of Miller. He snuck it past the nurses, and died for it.” The last phrase ripped itself, dripping with rage, from the wheelchair bound mans voice. He clenched his fist around the piece of metal in his hand, his shoulders shaking slightly below a clenched jaw. “Those fuckers bombed hospitals… fucking hospitals…” he growled.
“and homes..” Alex echo’d Reaux’s tone.
“How many did we get out.” Sean Reaux asked, turning to face the marine once more. “How many did we save.”
“We got a little over fifty thousand out. Most of them were civilians, but we got most of ours out as well. We lost at least one hospital entirely. I don’t know how many…” Alex answered.
“Fuckers…” Reaux hissed, “And here I am, all fucked up and nowhere to dance.”
“Easy Sargent, rest up, our turn will come sooner than you think.” Alex clamped the man on the shoulder, “I’ll see about getting you someplace to rest. You look like ass.”
“Don’t. I requested the chair. I have a full load of bed programmed nanites onboard. I gave the bed up once they kicked in. some other boys need it more.” Sean Reaux patted the chair and smirked, “besides, I can chase the nurses easier on wheels.”
Alex knew it was a facade, but he also knew to respect the mans decision, “Understood, Sargent. Come see me when you are recovered. I have to write the letter, but you know the family better than I do. bring me anything you would like to send them and I’ll add it.”
Sean Reaux stiffened for a moment before slowly pulling an envelope from his scrubs.. It’s dried blood encrusted fingerprints betrayed its origins. He handed it, almost reverently to Alex, gave a weak salute, and went back to spinning his dead childhood friend’s dogtags. Sean did not bother to wait for a return salute. Alex just let the man be, choosing instead to head toward the mess.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Martina, Ivar and Ja’krin were finishing off the last of their plates. The mess was about half full, with the shift change rush slowly filtering in.
“So, Spill”, Buzz finally broke the idle chit chat, turning to Ivar. “You pick up command of 303, then get almost immediately pulled off for a series of classified missions. Then, out of nowhere, you and Chika burn in, Wax almost a squadron of fighters, then land in a pair of fighters that scream “I could tell ya, but I’d have to kill ya”. What gives.”
Chika snorted at the reference, and Ivar chuckled, “You’ve been watching to many Human Spy shows again.”
“Yea, so? Give.” Ja’krin said with a shit eating grin.
“The short story is, we are testing out a new type of fighter. I can’t tell you anything else, but if you remember when we met Mac for the first time…” Ivar pointedly let his voice trail off.
“Fuck me…” Ja’krin mumbled, skewering a piece of fruit from his plate. “That would explain the Void demons you rode in on. Do you know what the timetable would be on something like that?”
“That, I cant say.” Martina said. Drawing a confused look from Buzz as she answered for Ivar.
“We’re still just pilots after all,” Ivar said almost as if he had never been interrupted.
“Ooook? I’m not gonna get much out of the two of you am…” Ja’krin froze as husband and wife shared a look. “Whoa shit… I heard rumors but… Its true isn’t it.”
“Hmm?” Martina asked, tilting her head slightly.
“…You finally claimed Ivar…” Buzz’s eyes widened in understanding. “That shouldn’t be possible. What the hell have you two been up to.”
“We… we can’t say. Yes, you are correct. I was recently able to Claim McLovin. I’m not at liberty to tell you how.” Martina stated carefully, taking Ivar’s hand as he reached to caution her.
“Well, CONGRATS!” Jak’rin smiled broadly, “However it happened, it’s awesome news! We are gonna need to celebrate when we get back to…”
The warning klaxon’s howl broke everyone in the mess hall from their activities. The entire hall emptied out inside of a minute, its occupants filed out in practiced urgency before rushing to their stations.
________________________________________________________________________________________
USN Galveston exploded into real space trailing wisps of quantum plasma. Thirty-nine other warships appeared next to her in a planned formation, and several of them began to almost boil as they launched their fighters. Hundreds of scans had been analyzed to give the incoming fleet the closes possible arrival coordinate, and the mass of Human and Delmar vessels arrived within half an hour from orbit. Still, several ship’s shields flared as small bits of debris bounced harmlessly off the energy fields.
A fleet wide signal began transmitting from the Galveston, “This is admiral Karmarin of the Unity Galactic Navy working in conjunction with the United Sol Federation and the Delmar Confederation. I am transmitting an encrypted packet along with this transmission. I, as the head of the UGN, have requested aid from Sol and of Delmar, and have received it. Commence operations within five minutes of the completion of this transmission. Void guide you all.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Patreon
First, Previous, Next

I hope you'll bare with me. I've had a rough go of it the last couple years. Maybe life I don't know. My mom died when I was young. I was always the black sheep of friends and family. I was a Navy Parachute Rigger from 2008 to 2012 I joined at 17 to get away from home. I was extremely motivated when I first joined. By the time I got to my first command I was realizing that I probably wouldn't fit in either. I tried my best, but I was extremely sensitive when I joined. I was used to being bullied in middle school and high school, but I was definitely in a bad way when I was bullied at my first command. Things just got worse and worse for me in Whidbey Island.
One of the major events was being beaten by a fellow PR who was underway when I first arrived. He was a drunk. Had his entire entertainment stand lined with about 40 empty bottles of crown royal. He came over to my barracks room to borrow a movie (I was netflix before netflix with about 1500 dvds) and downed a half bottle of crown. He insisted I drink too to be cool and fit in. I said no. He got more drunk and angry and beat the brakes off of me. I reported everything to the watch who called the on duty Officer. An O4 showed up, made me carry the Airman out of my room back to his and then stand watch on him the rest of the night. The following Monday I was called into my Chief's office where I was met with 2 options. Having him kicked out for assault, or be a GOOD GUY and keep the Airman in so he can get the help he deserves. He was kicked out about 8 months later when he was caught with pain killers that weren't his.
A few months later a new female airman shows up. I'm coming off of a bad break up and still the black sheep. This airman is the talk of the command. She's from Texas. A crossfit type that works out everyday, and funny too. Somehow, someway she takes an interest in me. We have a relationship for a couple months when a rumor is spread about us and everything ends of course with her never saying a word to me again. At this point I started acting at a Playhouse down the street from the base just to get my mind off things. This is when I start getting beaten by my higher ups. I didn't realize that everyone was having parties that I was never invited to. The female airman was attending and spreading rumors about me. Like how I was "Showing up to her barracks room door at night, drinking a bottle of vodka and scratching at her door to let me in", because of this I would be ordered to stay after and clean the division. Sweep and mop. Once everyone was gone the lights would go off and I would hear footsteps. I would be slammed into packing tables, hit with books, picked up and slammed to the ground, spit on, etc. I never found out who it was. I reported everything to a Senior Chief who (after all these years I forgot the Navy acronym) was in charge of reports of harassment and hazing. He showed up a few hours after my report, walked into my Chief's office slammed the door and started yelling at him and the 2 first classes in the office. After, a long silence, they all started laughing. The office had a big window to look out into the division. I was packing a chute when I looked up and they were all staring at me laughing. The paper I wrote down the complaint on was torn up and tossed around the room by the Senior Chief who left laughing. A few days later my Chief gave me a new sheet to write a complaint. It was a "hurt feelings chit".
The female airman was later kicked out for sleeping with an Officer while underway. I was offered another 4 year contract at Whidbey Island, and I said no immediately and got out honorably. I've always thought about these things, and being single at 33 with no wife or kids makes a lot of sense to me now days.
Fast forward to 2019. I was falsely arrested at gunpoint in New Mexico while truck driving (very long story). I sued the company involved and they lied for 4 years. I had to do a lot of therapy with the VA for what I went through in jail. The defense counsel hired a lawyer of course and as part of their defense they hired a Psychiatrist who has in the past worked for the VA. He took my Psychiatric records and made all of my PTSD about my Mom dying and my Navy situation. I took the case all the way to a second mediation when I settled out of court with the company. I was basically told that no jury would ever go after the company that left me in jail because the owner is a Pastor of a very large church in Houston and they're going to side with him. I took the very small settlement and I'm now living in Long Beach about to go back to truck driving, because thats all I seem to be good at. I went to film and acting school after the Navy and have done some film work. It's just an extremely hard profession of course.
I write all of this, because I finally filed for VA disability. After I wrote everything out for my PTSD claim I absolutely broke down. I've been told everything from "You're not a veteran" to "You don't deserve disability because you never went overseas". I just hit a wall and feel like an absolute failure. I used to think I was doing alright. No drugs. Not an alcoholic. I just don't know how to feel about myself anymore. Can't stop being emotional right now. Just wanted to write this all out. I just want to run away to a different country and lay on a beach somewhere and try and forget everything. I really don't have too many friends. Thanks for listening if you made it.
​

Just like the title line — What’s your funniest boot camp story?
I went to Navy boot camp in 1999 and don’t have too many stories from it. Most of mine are from the fleet. The gas chamber is always funny but there was this one guy that had a medical light duty chit for 7 out of 8 weeks. He finally got cleared right before graduation so our RDCs formed all of us up at the front of the berthing and PT’d the shit out of this guy in front of the whole division. That was pretty funny and satisfying.
Another guy probably week 3 or 4 received a box of home baked cookies in the mail. They called him into the duty office and let him have one fucking cookie. Then those bastards made dude do PT in there while they ate the rest of them in front of him 🤣

My coc is forcing me to use my 24hr special lib chit because I asked to work from home Message Good morning, I would like to ask to work from home today I got maybe 2 hours of sleep last night and I am falling asleep standing up so I don't feel safe driving I feel I would fall asleep at the wheel
I was told that I "will have to use my special lib chit because we are still in the navy and have responsibilities to show up to work because I need everyone here" Also I am 8 months pregnant and on a shore command in a travel office that 90% of the time we sit on our phones not doing anything. I asked what they would do if I didn't have that chit and didnt get a response so I am looking for an instruction that will allow me to tell them they are required to allow sailors to "call in" or work from home if circumstances fit

My name is Nicholas,
I've lurked on this particular Reddit post for years now. It's taken me this long to compile my experiences for understanding and healing. I want to start with what other users and I share. Some traits have a few differences, but I match up 90% percent or close to. Also, I had similar experiences with shadow people, law enforcement encounters, military families, and even my military service, including the specific function I was fulfilling during my time serving that wasn't a part of my job description.
Below is a comprehensive breakdown of how this ties into the GATE conspiracy for my lived experience.
-Blue eyes (hazel seems equally familiar) Brown Eyes
-Occipital Bun (aka math bump on the back of skull = Neanderthal trait) Yes
-Birth complications (like weeks early or not breathing) Unsure
-Near Death Experience (particularly drowning) Had to be saved by a Jersey Shore lifeguard when I was in elementary school.
-Lack of memory or GATE (we all did many, many hours there, and it's all very vague) Yes
-Windows were covered in all GATE classrooms- Brown paper covered windows, check.
-Tendency to be followed (abductions and general tracking, too) I had an experience in Haifa, Israel, in 2016, where a Marine I was out with while bar hopping was abducted and escaped. I believe they got the wrong guy.
-Law enforcement has been extremely lenient and easy during chance encounters since I was a child. I was a Law and Public safety major in high school, and the teacher was a former Police officer and Corrections officer.
-High IQs - I've been told
-Highly intuitive and sensitive children- I live it every day.
Other similarities that are less common but a few exGATErs agree on too;
-Interest in /x/ phenomenon (occult knowledge) - Had a Wiccan aunt introduced me to all sorts of esoteric beliefs and studies- I am still fascinated. Not just Wiccan practice, but all of them.
-Heavy early twenties drug experimentation period - Lots of weed, lots of stimulant abuse (caffeine, cigarettes, vapes, I abused Adderall maybe two times, but only one pill per escapade. I also drank a lot while in service, and I've done psychedelics in my mid-twenties.
-Forehead scars- I was learning how to shoot my new rifle, and I placed my forehead too close to the scope and the recoil caused the scope to hit between my eyes, causing bleeding and a permanent scar.
-I couldn't pronounce the letter "R" in early speech therapy for my life.
-Firstborn sons Thirdborn son, first one in the military.
-Migraines- No, not that I remember.
-Israeli art student girlfriend (not even joking) Potentially? I had an artsy girlfriend whom I had my first sexual encounter with while in 7th grade. Growing up where I grew up, it wouldn't be a surprise if she was Israeli or Jewish.
-Premonitions/prophetic dreams- Yes.
-Above average intuition- Yes
My name is Nicholas,
Early life summary :
I grew up thirty minutes from the Twin Towers on the opposite side of the Hudson River in New Jersey; my father worked in Newark, New Jersey, and watched the collapse of the Twin Towers from the rooftop of the business he was the manager of. My uncle worked down the street from the Twin Towers and was present for the attacks. I was around six years old when the attack happened, and I'm almost sure I saw the smoke from the attack and the collapse. My family and I moved to a rural community in Northwestern, New Jersey, when I was around eight. I will reserve my GATE experience for a separate section; this portion is more for the reader to understand the gravity of my childhood leading up to GATE and post-GATE experiences before my time in service.
My room as a young boy was decorated with portraits of various Allied leaders of World War 2, whether it was Roosevelt, Churchill, and others. I also had pictures of maps of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the locations of where the atomic bombs landed marked on the map, and routes in and out of the city. It was like any other map, but it was a military one. I had US propaganda posters and pictures from the period as well. One is the famous Uncle Sam photo of him pointing at the person passing by and saying, "I want you."
(Info for reference - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncle_Sam ) I also had various warplanes hanging from the ceiling; the one I remember the most was the Enola Gay, a plane famous for its use in the atomic bombs being dropped on Hiroshima
( Info on Plane here - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enola_Gay ).
Mind you, I was no older than 14 years old at this point. I watched every war movie and TV show from back in the 40s to the present day (mid-2000s). I had every single documentary and more. I was also at a very advanced reading level for my age, and I had been reading Dante Alighieri before middle school. Specifically, his work titled "Inferno."
( Info on Inferno here - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inferno_(Dante)) ). For those uninitiated, it's a very high-level book. I look back now as an adult and ask myself how I could have read that as a child, but I did. This plays into something that is taking place in the present day. I took an aptitude test through the VA to access a specific education benefit. One of the aspects of this test was reading comprehension, and I scored in the ninety-nine percentile; this means I scored the highest I could score.
Gate Experience
My gate experience is quite fuzzy. I remember doing tests with the various Cards, the Rorschach test, the brown headphones with the curly cable leading to a CD player, the brown paper-covered windows, and even some sort of test or something that's hard to describe that I did on the computer. I remember taking images of little soldiers and setting them up in formations on the screen. Of course swordsmen in the front, archers in the back. That portion is incredibly fuzzy. I have no memories of the people who gave these tests, who they were, or what they looked like. I do remember attending therapy in high school, and I was incredibly hesitant to speak about my younger experience with my therapist. Is it connected to this GATE experience? I'm unsure. What sticks out to me most importantly is the drinking of the pink liquid. I remember the cups were either plastic or paper, small shot cups that could be used to deliver medication to someone—something you see at the hospital or doctor. To this day, I do not remember what the liquid was. I do remember it tasting like that pink cough syrup. But I have a feeling it wasn't that. What it was I'm unsure. Much like other Reddit users you have commented on this post, I, too, was separated from my normal classmates during this period.
I've done a lot of reading on Gifted and Talented Education, specifically on the "conspiracy" side of it.
Here's a podcast about the GATE program; it also provides images of the various tests they would conduct and even the headphones we used.
https://theoriesofthethirdkind.com/blogs/episodes/gate-program
Highschool
Rather than attending what I would describe as a "normal high school," I attended a technical school that included shop classes that took three or four periods out of the day depending on my current grade (i.e., Sophomore, etc..) Each year, the time spent in the shop class increases from two to three and then from senior year to four. For example, some of the shop classes were nursing, welding, carpentry, auto mechanics, and, more importantly, my shop class was named "Law and Public Safety." Within this shop class, I had a teacher who was a retired law enforcement officer and, at one point, a Corrections Officer. We will call him Bob. Bob was very open about his support of the military, law enforcement, and various forms of public service, including Fire Departments and Emergency Squads (EMTs/Paramedics). Portions of the class were concentrated on physical fitness; other portions were focused on current event research and study. We had to research a topic and then do a presentation about said topic every week. We, of course, studied law, Miranda rights, and various portions of the US government in our class, including the Justice System, the Executive branch, and the Legislative Branch. We also had speakers from all walks of military, police, and emergency personnel. During one year, I believe it was my senior year, we had a field trip to a Boeing aircraft facility. Unfortunately, I could not attend due to one of my low grades in a class. I believe it was math. I wouldn't say I liked high school math and most of my teachers, thus leading to a bad grade. But I digress. Another large portion of our time in class was visits from military recruiters: Navy, Army, Air Force, and the Marine Corps. I have been fascinated with the Marines since I was a child. There was no question whether or not I would join in my parents' eyes; it was just a matter of when. I would speak with Marine Recruiters every chance I had in high school, whether in shop class or during lunch when they had various tables set up in the lunch room with the now infamous pull-up bar. (Which, by the way, was to test children and their physical fitness to see if they were candidates for military service, the caveat being that the children who accomplished the said goal of pull-ups would be rewarded with a free bag or some drinkware that had the Marine logo on it.) So, as a teenager, I was exposed to my way into the military through recruiters when I was fourteen. I told my mom, "You will sign my contract now as a seventeen-year-old, or I will enlist anyway when I turn eighteen." She knew my choice was always going to be infantry. She signed my paperwork. I was also involved in a year-long training regiment before enlisting. We called this the Delayed Entry Program.
(Info on DEP here- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delayed_Entry_Program).
We learned various forms of Marine Corps knowledge and culture, and of course, physical fitness was a significant portion of our weekly meetings, which were usually held on Fridays.
MILITARY SERVICE- I served in the United States Marine Corps from 2014-2018. I was an Infantryman, and my specialty was a MOS (Military Occupation Specialty) called 0352, also known as an Antitank Missile Gunner. Scanning the battlefield for enemy vehicles and identifying and appropriately engaging the target were my primary purposes -my job description- and I ended up making ties to posts similar to what other users have described as military intelligence. A bit of background on my military family (if that isn't evident in today's America, I implore you to ask friends of yours who served whether or not they have a family member who served or is serving. More than likely, that answer will be Yes.)
My father served on the USS La Salle (Page Here- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_La_Salle_(AGF-3)) )
I don't have much connection with my parents, especially my father. I'll talk more about that later.
The TLDR concerning the Wiki is that it was a command and intelligence ship my father served on in the 1980s. The ship's home port during that period was Naval Support Activity Bahrain, in Bahrain an island country located in the Middle East. At this time, the wars in the Middle East haven't occurred yet. My dad admitted he was floating around the Arabian Gulf on various intelligence-gathering operations in Iraq and other Middle Eastern countries.
(Info on Bahrain here- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bahrain )
My grandparents served in the Army, one on active duty, another a national guardsman. One of them is alive, another I never met due to him dying before my birth.
My Grandfather, who was on my mother's side, was an integrator during Vietnam; from what I understand, he stayed stateside. (To what degree I'm unaware) The assumption here is that prisoners of war were sent stateside for various levels of intelligence gathering.
My Grandfather on my father's side I know very little about. He was in Indo-China during World War 2
(Info on Indo-China here—https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Indochina_in_World_War_II ). It comprised Cambodia, Laos (from 1899), the Chinese territory of Guangzhouwan (from 1898 until 1945), and the Vietnamese regions of Tonkin in the north, Annam in the center, and Cochinchina in the south. The capital for most of its history (1902–1945) was Hanoi; Saigon was the capital from 1887 to 1902 and 1945 to 1954. This is just some info pulled from Wiki.
Always Faithful-Semper Fidelis, I served in the United States Marine Corps between 2014 and 2018. As mentioned previously, my job as a Marine was to not only destroy tanks but to identify them and understand both the capabilities and limitations of each vehicle, including what country it originated from, what category of armored vehicle (Armored Personnel Carrier, Tank, Infantry Fighting Vehicle etc) its weapon system and most importantly how to destroy the vehicle with two different weapon systems named the FGM-148 Javelin or Advanced Antitank Weapon System-Medium,( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FGM-148_Javelin ). Another is called The Saber, also known as the BGM-71 TOW in the military ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BGM-71_TOW ).
To sum up my training in that job, I had to memorize fifty different NATO and Non-Nato vehicles by the way they looked during day time, night time, and through various thermal or night vision optics, how they sounded, and the multiple weapon systems that these vehicles had and how to effectively destroy them. I was damn good at it, or at least the identifying piece, but more on engaging the enemy vehicles later. I took pride in being the "nerd" of the infantry as our other infantry peers were jokingly and semi-seriously calling us. One of the many final tests we had to complete was one where we were shown an enemy vehicle on a screen and had five seconds to identify the vehicle and what country it belonged to on our written test. We had to do this for all fifty vehicles.
( What is NATO? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NATO )
It felt incredibly reminiscent of that scene in Star Wars Commando where you're a Clone sitting behind what can be described as a child using a futuristic computer inputting answers incredibly fast on the screen.
(Video for Context https://youtu.be/CL5i33CTld8?si=Rbh72TNTq1MUXNLI&t=27 )
What I found myself doing quite often was kind of embarrassing to ordinary infantrymen, especially as a junior enlisted Marine in the infantry. Since my MOS consisted of engaging armored vehicles, I went to a mounted platoon. These types of platoons are called CAAT or Combined Anti-Armor Teams. They are normally comprised of eight vehicles, two squads, and four vehicles per squad or "section," as we call it. We had HMMVVs and MRAP/ MATV Vehicles at our disposal.
(Info on vehicles here-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MRAP https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oshkosh\_M-ATV
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humvee )
I drove these vehicles quite often, and I wouldn't say I liked it. I wanted to be a gunner or a dismount, but I was the driver due to my rank and lack of experience. Turns out driving isn't easy. I have to take responsibility for an entire vehicle and the lives of up to four other people in the vehicle—and in some cases, like the MRAP, more lives—ten fully equipped passengers, to be exact, in the MRAP.
In Marine infantry culture, being the driver, in my experience, was always reserved for the junior guy, the shitbag NCO, or someone just filling a need in the platoon. Which, in my thought process, could make more sense. Give the guy you trust the least the reins of a multi-million dollar vehicle with troops and a pretty expensive weapon system. FYI It doesn't make sense through that lens.
In Syria, I found myself transporting the operations Commander around various parts of Northern Syria during the Raqqa Offensive of 2017. I also found myself transporting VIPs and what I can surmise were intelligence agents of either the military or CIA to and from meet and greets with The Kurdish militia group known as The Peoples Defense Units, also known as YPG/YPJ. I was also invited to these meetings with men in Marine Corps Desert Camo Fire Resistant Operational Gear, commonly known as FROG gear. (Context Here- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Army_Combat_Shirt )
Their looks, how they spoke, and the nature of calling them by pseudo-first names raised many eyebrows in my then 20-year-old brain. They wore the same uniform, but I know a Marine when I see one, and I know who isn't. They weren't. At least not your average infantry Marine.
We sat with these Kurdish fighters and had Chai tea, many, many, many French light cigarettes, food, and chit-chat. But it wasn't for fun; we were working and uncovering what was going on in the militia's ranks. Unfortunately, I cannot remember a lot of these meetings. Portions of my deployment still escaped me due to the nature of the destruction I witnessed. Children playing around undetonated bombs and having to withhold supplies from starving people out of fear of accidentally running someone over in a crowd due to them finding out Americans were giving out water and food. At least, that is what we were told.
A few other points of interest
I would also transport supplies to a base known as the "Concrete factory," where the militia group and special forces would operate. These militias were getting brand new uniforms and weapons, including BGM 71 TOW, the heavy anti-armor weapon system I specialized in.
I was in on every single convoy brief or troop movement as a Corporal; I was also briefed multiple times in the special forces tent located at our airfield called the Kobani Landing Zone.
This comes back to the cultural differences in the Marines. To reiterate, being a driver is usually reserved for lower-ranking enlisted, "bad" Marines or out of necessity. However, contrary to those beliefs, I was privy to a tremendous amount of information. Usually reserved for leaders of higher rank. At this point, I was a Corporal, an E-4—the starting point of becoming a Non-Comissioned officer. I was a junior non-commissioned officer promoted within that year, and this was my first deployment as an NCO. This is not normal, at least in my experience and how I was made to feel about the situation. I was also compelled by my command while stateside to visit the S-2 Shop quite often. The S-2 shop is military intelligence. Rooms where you turn your phone off, leave it outside in a lock box, and have to be let in by someone with a code were quite often rooms I entered while stateside.
(Peoples Defense Units Wiki)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/People%27s_Defense_Units
(Battle of Raqqa Wiki)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Raqqa_(2017))
I can provide proof of military service, photos, and whatever else users would like to skim through. I will not include information that might doxx me or anyone I worked with.
I will leave you with this.
All lies come to the surface, and truth will prevail.

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
There's always someone tougher. - Terran saying, Age of Antiquity
The emergency secondary backup bridge was still coming online as Lieutenant - Senior Grade Valandee hurried over to the Captain's chair, deploying the screens and sitting down. He wanted to stand, to walk around, but he knew that the ship might have to make maneuvers soon and didn't want to end up on the floor.
The heavy battleship Catch These Catching Hands Sucker was a Hamaroosan vessel weighing in the terratons. Classed by the Confederate Space Force Navy as a super-heavy super-dreadnought, it was built to face entire fleets if necessary. Being stationed in the Mar-gite Zone meant it had a Marine complement four times larger than the massive amount it normally carried. It carried nearly eight thousand Hamaroosan sailors, all of whom were trained on a multiple of stations.
Valandee was staring at the boards. The crew manifest board burned in red letters outlined in silver.
A quarter of the ship's complement was down, "NO CARRIER" blinking next to their names. At least three hundred were flashing extreme physical injuries.
He knew those ones were being eaten by the Mar-gite.
The Marines, all eight thousand of them, were largely intact. Only slightly less than two hundred were showing extreme physical trauma and even as he watched they kept blinking out.
He knew their shipmates were killing the Mar-gite eating them as well as them.
The tapped the screen, scrolling through to see who the highest ranking Marine was.
Get control of the ship, echoed in his head.
The communications system was out, still not spinning up as the sole green mantid rushed from panel to panel. He looked over and saw that one panel was open, glowing fiber-optic cables inside and physical integrated circuit chips large enough for him to see inside. The green mantid was rapidly spinning a wheel to bring power to the system, then running the checks.
He had one name close by.
Gunnery Sergeant Chaskell.
He tapped the icon. His datalink clinked repeatedly until the channel suddenly opened.
"Gunny Chaskell here, sir," he heard.
"Status?" Valandee asked.
"Last of the station personnel onboard. We're going to blow the transit tube," the Gunny said. "Unless you..." the statement trailed off.
"Do it," Valandee said. "Get everyone in battle armor. How bad does it look to you?"
"We've got hull breaches and Mar-gite inside the hull. We've been boarded in at least a dozen spots, but the Marines are pushing them back," the Gunny said.
"Everything that works is on local control," Valandee said. "Get those stations manned," he looked at the board. "We need the point defense, anti-missile, and close range systems manned."
"Aye, sir," Gunny said. He turned and kicked the Mar-gite against the wall, holding it there with his boot as he dumped a burst from his SMG into the cilia. The Mar-gite's organs and shredded meat poured from the long rent in the flesh Gunny Chaskell pulled his foot back, ignoring how his boot was smoking, letting the Mar-gite fall to the floor.
"Get the civilians on the emergency controls for the guns," he heard LT(SG) say.
He knew of the Lieutenant, one of the few Tnvaru aboard the ship, which was named after the Tnvaru ship that had helped clear Tnvaru space of the Atrekna all the way back during the Second Precursor War. It didn't bother the Gunny, he was a Puntimat, which weren't exactly known for their martial prowess.
He touched his link. "Any Marine with a civilian, get them into one of the intact close support combat stations and get them firing the guns," he said.
Personally, he doubted the decision, but right now, with the ship dead in the water, any decision was better than no decision.
Another Mar-gite rushed down the passage, shrieking, and he gave them a burst from the SMG, tearing open the body next to the massive mouth. Blood and shredded guts poured from the hole and the Mar-gite fell cilia first onto the floor.
For something as clumsy looking at the Mar-gite, it could move and move fast, the eyes on the 'feet' retracting inside calcite shells.
"Let's go!" the Gunny yelled out, motioning the half-dozen men behind him to follow.
He grabbed a civilian. "You need to run a point defense station," he said.
"I'm a data analyst," the civilian, a Hikken who was panting inside his thin-skinned vac-suit.
"Then you can run a point defense," the Gunny said. He slapped the panel and the door slid open. He looked back at his men. "Get someone in these stations. Comps are down."
The other Marines nodded, pushing the civilians forward.
"But... I can't..." someone whined.
"Then we'll all die. It's all hands on deck," one of his men, it sounded like Lance Corporal Fretridik said.
The Hikken nodded as the Gunny helped him inside.
He couldn't believe this was happening. Less than two hours ago he was just running data analysis on the grav waves around the system, just like he usually did to help out the astro-control systems.
Now half of his work crew were dead, eaten by Mar-gite of all things. He'd seen a Hikken female he'd dated a few times devoured by one.
She'd screamed even when her internal organs had been visible.
The Puntimat Marine, Emlret didn't know they made Puntimat males that big, was already plugging his suit into the life support module.
"Here, in here," the big Puntimat was saying.
Emlret just nodded as the Puntimat pushed him into the seat and buckled him in, then spun him around.
He was looking at a dead board.
"It doesn't work," he said.
The Marine pointed at the floor. "Work the treadle," he said.
Emlret looked down. There was a balanced metal plate with footprint marks and a stencil that said to operate in tandem to move the plate up and down on either side of the red line.
Elmret nodded and the Marine vanished. The door closed and Emlret put his feet on the plate. Pushing with one foot made the plate tilt forward, pushing with the other made it tilt back. He could feel something inside moving, maybe spinning. He kept it up and suddenly the dead board retracted.
A single screen came up and he knew he was goggling at it.
It was an old cathode ray tube design.
The control board consisted of two things.
A trackball set into the boards middle and a single red button with an upraised ring around it.
The CRT flickered to life.
Red and silver.
It showed the word DEMO on top.
A cursor moved across.
"AIM WITH TRACKBALL CONTROLLED CURSOR"
lines started moving toward the bottom of the screen. The cursor, a little box with an X in it, moved to just in front of the bright dots at the front of the lines.
"ENSURE LEAD DISTANCE"
The box when from white to red.
"PRESS BUTTON TO FIRE"
It showed a line shoot up and a flickering 'circle' of explosion made by squares intercept several of the bright tipped lines.
"MOVE TO NEXT TARGET"
There was no other data.
"DEMO ENDED"
"What? That's it?" Elmret asked.
"REAL TIME DATA INCOMING" the screen showed him. It hung there and then the red letters came up.
"OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE"
He could see dozens of lines heading toward the bottom of the screen and he frantically moved the trackball to intercept him. His first few tries he didn't lead them far enough, then too far, then he started to get it. Whipping the trackball back and forth, up and down, as fast as he could. He found if the bright dot got too close to the bottom of the screen, the lower third, it often split into multiples.
When a massive wave came in, he whipped the trackball up and hammered the button as fast as he could as he spun the trackball and the cursor whipped across the screen.
His ammo counter flashed a few times, but was quickly replenished.
Panting, sweating in his armpits, he kept it up.
He didn't know how long it would go in, or if it would ever stop, but the single word flashed at the top of the screen.
SURVIVE
LT(SG) Valandee watched as more and more point defense, anti-missile, and close range weaponry came online. Several of the anti-missile stations, using plain old fashioned fission nukes, were spamming the Mar-gite boarding clusters out of space.
He looked over his boards. Most of the ship was down, but more and more was coming under his control.
He was not startled that when Commodore Shreling came in, the superior officer didn't take over from Valandee but moved straight to the secondard backup emergency backup helm station.
"Any cores charging?" Valandee asked.
"One, Captain," the Commodore said. He looked up from the board. "The Hellcore. It's charging where none of the others even have power."
"Hellspace shielding?" Valandee asked.
He knew nobody used Hellspace. Well, nobody except the Crusade.
"On standby," the Commodore said.
He thought fast. He couldn't remember if Mar-gite could survive in Hellspace.
Think too long, you're wrong, cadet, his instructor's voice rang in his mind.
"Do we have Hellspace coordinates?" he asked.
The Commodore looked up. "From the last test."
"Where?"
"DYN-772343, Rentwark Station," the Commodore said.
Valandee looked at the scans he was getting back. They were all passive, hell, most of them were based off of high powered optical systems.
Mar-gite were still pouring into the system even as the ones that had arrived earlier jumped out again.
"We're going to have to chance it," he said. He looked at the Commodore. "Charge the shields, charge the core, charge the engines. Set course for DYN-772343."
"Aye aye, Captain," the Commodore said.
The light blinked on his scanner to signify a major status change.
Something had jumped into the system. Something that didn't match the Mar-gite.
He tapped the icon and the data appeared.
High tech. Oval with a pointed end. The wide end was pointed toward the direction it was moving. Silver colored, almost shimmering like liquid. It was estimated to be 1.2 kilometers long and a half-kilometer wide at the widest. It was moving in the middle of a shimmering band of grav waves.
It was using Accy-Berry Drive to move into the system.
He checked the board.
He had a single weapon online. It was reporting that it wasn't loaded, the feed mechanism was down and non-responsive.
He tapped the screen. Eight Marines near it. He tapped the icon.
"Staff Sergeant Oriknaff," came the panting reply. "GET THAT ONE, IT'S RUNNING!"
"Captain here," Valandee said.
There was silence a moment. "Go ahead, Captain."
"The gun in the room with you," he said.
"It's a big one."
"I need you to get it loaded," Valandee said. "I'll open the breach from here."
"Roger, sir," the Marine said.
Valandee watched his boards as more and more of the ship started coming back as green. Not the systems, but the corridors and internal spaces. Breaches started flashing with temp-patch notifications.
He knew the Marines were at work killing the Mar-gite that had boarded.
His datalink clinked.
"Valandee," it was Commodore Freelima. Her voice was almost a whisper.
"Here, ma'am," he said. "How long till the bridge is..."
"It isn't, Valandee," she said softly. There was a gasp and fast breathing for a second. "Get our people out. Save our ship."
"Ma'am, I..." Valandee started to say.
"Don't last stand it," Freelima said. She gasped again. "Get out. Warn the Confed..."
She went silent.
"Ma'am?" Valandee said softly.
No answer.
"Ma'am?" he tried, a little louder.
The icon on his board blinked and he heard the Marine Staff Sergeant.
"We got it loaded, sir! Fragarach Cannon ready!" the Marine sounded triumphant.
Valandee closed the silent link and reached forward to grab the control stick. He looked at Commodore Shreling.
"Engage the engines," he said. "Ahead 25%. Prepare the Hellcore."
"Engaging," the Commodore said.
The ship vibrated slightly as Valandee tapped the icon to bring up the integrity fields and the backup secondary battlescreens. Over half of them crashed.
But enough didn't crash that the emitters were able to cover the ship.
He tapped the icon and the Hellspace shields came online.
Faintly he heard bellows of rage.
The Sucker swung around.
He had a single blinking icon on his screen.
The new vessel.
The anomaly.
He reached out and grabbed the other control stick, using the thumb switch rocker to quickly move through weapons until he had it.
The Fragarach Cannon.
When the light blinked he squeezed the grip, taking the safety offline, and pressed the button top.
The entire ship shuddered as the massive cannon fired.
"Helljump coordinates locked! Ready!"
"GO TO HELLSPACE!" Valandee called out. He tapped the icon. "ALL HANDS, ALL HANDS, THIS IS THE CAPTAIN! HELLSPACE TRANSLATION IMMINENT!"
The anomaly vanished from his screen.
"THREE!"
Valandee wasn't a religious man, but it felt right to make the quick sideways figure-8 across his chest with two fingers.
"TWO!"
"Prepare for jump!" Valandee warned the crew over whatever worked.
On the optical a wide tear appeared in space. Black skeletal hands pushed it wider. Barbed chains shot from the fiery tear, the barbed spikes on the end slamming into the Sucker and sinking deep.
The chains pulled the massive ship into the fiery tear in reality itself.
"JUMP JUMP JUMP!"
Valandee saw the forward Hellspace shield collapse just as the ship was pulled into the fire.
The air seemed to burst into flame around him. He felt like his nerves were burning, like his eyeballs were melting. Like his brain was boiling in his skull.
It was like dying.
It was like being born.
The images that ripped through his head were alien, foreign.
He was a being consisting of nothing but flesh, will, and rage.
He was small and frightened even as he grimly held onto his duty.
He was insane with grief and blood lust.
He was cold digital intellect.
He screamed in agony.
He cried in endless grief.
He bellowed in rage.
The forward Hellspace shield came back up, failed, came back up again and held.
The Hellspace energies around him swirled and faded into tatters that screamed in agony as they wisped away.
Valandee opened his mouth to ask the Commodore if he was alive when there was a sudden jerking feeling.
It felt like everything in front of him went flat and he slammed into the painted glass reality had become, to shatter through, to feel the jagged and sharp edges slice at him.
Then he was through and everything jerked into place.
He was hanging, limp, in the restraining belts of the Captain's chair. He knew he was bleeding from his nose and ears, that blood and saliva was spilling over his lower lip and down his chin.
He lifted up one hand and stared.
The emergency armored vac-suit glove was gone.
Instead, it was a black armored gauntlet, spikes on the knuckles, twisted barbed wire wrapped around the palm and back of the hand.
The rune for Tnvaru burned in sullen red on the back of his hand. He'd never seen the rune before, but somehow he knew that it was the ancient rune his people had used for themselves before even the Lanaktallan had arrived.
His catching arm was clad in thick plate that was engraved with runes. Barbed wire was wrapped around his forearm, the wire was ran through the middle of blackened and useless cred-chits that clicked against the armor.
"Transit successful. We're in Hellspace. ETA three hours," the Commodore said.
"Lets get the ship ready. We'll be dropping into a fight," Valandee said. He could hear his voice. It was rougher, raspier, deeper.
"Aye, sir," the Commodore answered. He turned to face Valandee.
His eyes burned red.
"Your eyes are purple fire, sir," the Commodore said.
Valandee just nodded.
He felt different.
But he also felt good.
Felt right.
"The price the Captain must pay to sail Hellspace," he said.
-----
Commodore N'Skrek was strapped into his seat in CIC, looking over the data.
The ship was about to drop out of hyperspace and into realspace.
The guns were ready. The shielding ready to be reset for realspace. The realspace engines hot and ready.
N'Skrek agreed with the Captain that there was a large chance the system was either under attack, already in Mar-gite possession, or just plain gone.
He tightened his grip on the armrests of his seat as the countdown reached zero.
The ship made a crash translation into realspace.
SHARP METAL IS HERE! rang out.
"Multiple Mar-gite Mega and Gigacluster signatures!" was called out as the data flooded into the Combat Information Center. "Planet is under assault. We've got live transponders! System Defense Forces are still engaged."
The analyst looked up and shook her head. "They can't hold. Not against this weight."
N'Skrek nodded.
"Four, twelve, twenty-two deathblossoms detected! Ships are exiting Deathblossom Group A and entering Deathblossom Group B," another analyst said. He looked up. "Gray force are retreating."
"More Gigaclusters warping in! More warping out!" was called out.
N'Skrek wished he could sharpen his bladearm with his grinding plates in his mouth, but the suit prevented it.
"Confed is issuing a retreat order," someone said. "Orders are to abandon the system, regroup further in."
N'Skrek opened his mouth to ask the Captain her decision.
"HELLSPACE BREACH!" was called out.
N'Skrek turned to look at the holotank.
DEATH METAL IS HERE! roared out with the clanging of great iron doors bursting open.
The ship that burst through was massive. Outmassing even the super-dreadnoughts. The chains trying to drag it back into Hellspace shattered, sending huge links of smouldering iron spiraling through the darkness.
"No ID."
'Find out who they are," N'Skrek ordered.
-----
Jaskel helped the damage control crew put the patch into place, holding it easily thanks to the power armor's enhanced strength while a sailor ran a fusion welder real quick around the edges.
"We're pulling out," Gunny Zolpad said over the Telkan Marine Corps channel. "Command says the system is lost. More Mar-gite are flooding into the system every minute."
Jaskel closed his eyes and threw out a quick prayer to the Digital Omnimessiah for the poor bastards on the planet.
His eyes opened wide when the roar sounded out around him.
DEATH METAL IS HERE!
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

Today I was on duty and did a 14 day follow up sick call for a persistent wet/wheezing cough. They were worried about it being pneumonia so wrote me SIQ and instructed me to go to the Naval hospital off base. I make 3 copies of the chit, gave one to my chief, gave one to my divisional LPO and one to my ships fire marshal (I’m in IET). The ships fire marshal is who I muster with for duty and told me I am good to go. I leave, take care of business at the hospital and then return to my barracks room where I’ve been lying down. Except now, I am woken up from a call from my departmental duty section coordinator (who I don’t even muster with), telling me that I should’ve only talked to the SSL and CDO and that I would be placed in the barge to stay for my full duty day SIQ. What should I do?
Edit: the issue is resolved and I can stay in my barracks room. Being in the navy is a nuisance sometimes.

I was so excited to join the Navy. I lost 95 pounds to join, I was dedicated to serving. When I swore in, I was so proud of myself I could hardly contain it. I was mentally prepped to deal with people yelling at me as I am from Virginia Beach, Virginia and I had so many friends in the Navy before joining to give me the 411.
Before enlisting, everyone has to go through MEPS. I went through it and they saw an issue with my vision and they had me go to an outside specialist to make sure I would be fit for duty. I was cleared with a waiver and I was so happy. I was 25 when I joined, so I was older and much more established than a lot of my fellow recruits. Beforehand, I had to give up my job as a surgical tech and my apartment. I parked my car at my parent’s house and left all my clothes in boxes ready for my parents to ship once I graduated.
Upon arriving, to Great Lakes, it was very chaotic. So many people were yelling at us to run here and there. We called our parents and read the script they gave, then we were sent to get our uniforms and supplies. Then we went to a holding area before we were sent to our divisions. Mind you this was 2021 and COVID was still at its peak. They require you to get/be vaccinated. I was already vaccinated prior to, and I brought my card with me. I turned my vaccination card in to be scanned and they gave it back to me. Unfortunately, I started to feel sick once I arrived. They told me that since I wasn’t vaccinated, I would have to be quarantined for 5 days. I explained that I was vaccinated and I gave them my card to make a copy, and I could go grab it from my stuff if they needed it. They told me to “shut the fuck up,” and didn’t let me get it. I was told to follow them, and I was taken to another building, the “hospital.” I was then locked in a room of bunks by myself. Every 6-7 hours, they would open the door, drop and MRE meal and leave. I was in that room alone, for 6 days. I had none of my stuff. Just a sheet and a pillow. I wasn’t able to shower, as I had no towel, toiletries, or any clothes. Silence and no toiletries, showers, not even a toothbrush for 6 days really takes an absolute toll on a person.
After the 6 days, they came and got me, and they sent me to my division. During P days, we went through medical again, got vaccines, pap smears, dental and vision checked. They were aware of my waiver, told me that they had to submit another waiver. They said that as long as I didn’t hear anything for a few days, I would be fine. I had to, unfortunately, get my wisdom teeth taken out. I told the dentist I could feel it and all she said was “just a little while longer, you’ll be fine.” She was drilling into my head and I kept saying “IT HURTS,” and she just ignored me. Once that was finally over and I was able to leave. I was walking back from my surgery (mouth bleeding everywhere) a petty officer stopped me and goes “are you fucking stupid, recruit?! you don’t know how to greet a superior when you seen one?” I put my hand up to my mouth to catch the blood and apologized. And I was met with “yeah, you are a sorry ass recruit, disgusts me. where are you going?” I couldn’t talk and my mouth was leaking blood and she goes, “when I ask a fucking question, answer!! what division are you? You need a demerit chit.” Thankfully, another officer walking by said, “let her go this time, she’s bleeding on my sidewalk and I don’t fucking like it.”
After that, training wasn’t so bad, as long as you followed directions and did your work. They talked to you like you were pieces of literal shit to society, but it wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for what I was expecting. Fast forward to a week before graduation. I get called down to optometry where they had a civilian secretary hand me papers stating I was being medically separated. I was told that if I didn’t hear back in a few days, I was fine and they let me train for 6 weeks and then didn’t even give me the decency to explain what happened.
After that I was brought to a separation unit where all of my things were taken except my PT outfits and a few things of socks and underwear. This is where it really started to get dark. Whenever we walked around base, all the officers would point at us calling us shitbags, losers, tell us we made them sick, we were weak ass recruits who couldn’t make it, and would warn their divisions that if they couldn’t get right they would end up being nothing like us. Now that we were out of training, we were confined to our room all day. We weren’t allowed to talk to each other much. We were constantly being sent somewhere to clean. We were constantly told we wouldn’t amount to anything in life because we couldn’t make it in the Navy. We had to walk 2 miles to and from every meal. They were constantly searching our stuff and making us sit in front of our racks in silence all day because they would find something stupid in our laundry room or someone’s rack. We weren’t allowed to talk all day once and sat in front of racks because they found jelly in the laundry room. People were constantly stealing your stuff, fighting, or fucking in the showers after dark. We had one girl that said we need to sleep with our eyes open and would walk around with scissors saying she should stab us. I woke up to her standing over top of me just staring one night. I was in there for weeks and it just became more and more depressing each day.
Once I finally made it home, I was greeted to all of my things in boxes, no job, and no home of my own anymore. I gave up everything and was sent home with nothing, to nothing. I started drinking really heavily and even ended up in rehab. I know that not everyone has a bad experience at basic training, but mine was horrible and traumatic. PTSD doesn’t just come from going to war. It can happen to anyone civilian or military. It takes an average of 8 minutes to traumatize someone and over those 12 weeks of hell, I don’t know if I will ever know how much trauma it truly caused. I just know it is going on 3 years and I am not the same person I was. And the Navy absolutely succeeded in institutionalizing me because even after all of that, I feel like I can’t function in any other workplace besides the Navy. I feel like a shell of who I used to be, and I need someone constantly telling me what to do and when to do it. My relationships have suffered, greatly and I have been in therapy and taking meds, but I just don’t know if I will ever be okay again.

https://www.mynavyhr.navy.mil/Portals/55/Reference/MILPERSMAN/1000/1000General/1050-280.pdf?ver=gdYTpxtF4bABVzrZWfKtfA%3d%3d
Alright so I’ve routed up multiple 4 Day special Lib chits in the past, mind you all of them were accepted, Ex: I have duty on a Sunday I would Route my chit for Monday through Thursday ( Due to me having duty on Sunday my liberty wouldn’t be in conjunction with the weekend because Sunday would be a regular work day etc) Now check this out my department yeoman kicked it back this time due to the Milpersman definition on special liberty saying (My special liberty has to include 2 consecutive non-working days) In what world does it makes since to use special liberty on The weekends that you already have off ‼️‼️ might I add special liberty can’t be used on duty days so what exactly makes this special liberty and what’s the point of it being 4Days if I’m only able to use it for 2 ‼️

I wanted to point out to some folks who wants to go to college but cannot use TA due to the Navy's 2 or 3 years requirement. Instead, used FAFSA (if you are E6 and below) to pay for your school tuition. It is free and the best thing about it is that you don't have to pay anything back. The big kicker of using FAFSA is that you are getting free money just to attend college while you are active duty. I believe if you do 4-5 classes a year you get like $4k-$6k each semester.
I've seen too many folks who are new to the Navy wanting to go to college and can't get TA due to the navy's requirement. However, if you used FAFSA you bypass the command. What I mean by that is that you don't need your command's permission or authorization to sign any voucher or request chit to attend college. Fafsa are used by the civilian and if you are E6 and below you are consider in the lower income where they will pay for your classes. Using the Navy's TA if you failed a class you have to pay it back while for fafsa you don't pay anything and still get a paycheck. This is just another way around the command if folks don't want to go through the hassle of getting their command to approve their chit/voucher. Used fafsa until you hit your 2 or 3 years requirement to start using TA if you guys don't want to wait. Just thought this might help those who cannot wait until they are eligible to start using TA.

Hey there! 26F looking for some roleplays with +20 people!

• Quality> Quantity. I tend to mirror posts but I’m realistic, when it comes to some scenes posts tend to get shorter (like when we’re in a dialogue heavy one). I don’t need novella-length posts.
  
• Doubling is a must. I like to play both Canon and OCs, what kind of combinations depends on the fandom.
  
• MxF (playing both genders) is what I'm looking for in mains, although I have my occasional FxF and MxM pairings too. AGED UP IS A MUST.
  
• I like OOC chit chat, sharing all our memes, silly headcanons… I won’t pressure you for replies.
  

Now, the fandoms!
Percy Jackson OCxOC: I’ve watched the movies (I know, I know) and my roommate will lend me the books when she can. Haven’t watched the show yet.
I can only really do OCxOC here, and although I have some random knowledge about the books due to having a best friend obsessed with them, consider me very noob-ish and be ready to get flexible. Perhaps, what I’m searching for is more of a Percy based RP.
The Chronicles of Narnia CanonxOC: Watched all the movies, and although I'm a fan of playing things from the beginning and building up some past scenes with our own characters included, I'm also up for something starting during the years they ruled over Narnia or during the Caspian times. We could come up with our own prophecies and make it original-esque even.
Canon I'd love to play as: Peter, Susan (open to FxF) - I'm not interested in playing Caspian rn, sorry Canon I'm looking for: Edmund.
Spiderverse CanonxOC: Watched both movies, too much fan content and theories, bought figurines... I've always been a Spiderman fan and I'm having the time of my life with people loving the Spiderverse. Also, I'm finally getting into the comics. I'm open to ALTERNATIVE versions of these characters, bring me the originality of this fandom. I also prefer if my partner's OC has some kind of power or is at least included in the hero/anti-hero dynamic, since it makes it easier to move the plot along. Venom, prowler... variants are welcomed too! I have a few of my own hahahaha. Also we don't need to follow the canon story, we can come up with our own instead, or follow the story and continue it as we see fit. I wouldn't mind trying out Gwen on a F// pairing.
Canons I'd love to play as: Miles, Miles 42, Gwen, Pavitr Canons I'm looking for: Hobie and Miles 42
Avatar - CanonxOC OCxOC As in Cameron's avatar.
I'm leaning more towards a Way of Water roleplay, either following the canon or doing a similar story to the first movie but with the Metkayina. But I'm open to other plots, even only with the Omaticaya clan and the forest biome.
I'm open to CanonxOC and OCxOC, but take into account that the Na'vi that I will be open to play will be the younger generation (as in Lo'ak, Neteyam, Rotxo, maybe Ao'nung, Tsireya, Kiri - both open for FxF -...) aged up.
Trolls CanonxOC, CanonxCanon: Yes, as in dreamworks trolls. Sorry the third move has me confused about how much I’ve liked it.
I’m searching for a comfort roleplay. In which, yes, we can explore drama and darker adventures than the original source, but I’m also craving the silliness and fluffiness of this fandom, the different hc and what ifs. I’ve seen very interesting ideas online already, I’ve even started to draw again! Trolls are giving all the happy chemicals to my brain.
In this fandom I’d like to do CanonxOC and CanonxCanon in terms of pairings, but I'm open to some OCxOC on the side.
Just a note, the characters I’m open to play are mainly the Brozone gang, Viva and perhaps other characters appearing in the third movie, and some from the second or first.
Thanks for reading and please send me a message if you’re interested or have any questions!

'Twas the night before Christmas, compartments were still, The sailors were sleeping, as most sailors will.
The C-bags hung by the lockers with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The men were all peacefully dreaming in bed As visions of liberty danced in each head.
The Chief in his skivvies, hopped into his rack, Having just came from town and a quick midnight snack.
When out on the deck there arose such a roar, I ran to the porthole to find out the score.
I stuck out my head and started to shout, "Just what in the Hell is this noise all about?"
A moon made for boondocking showed with a glow, It was downright cold out, 'bout seven below.
What I saw out there looked like those Mardi Gras floats, 'Twas a Captain's gig drawn by four white Navy goats.
In the boat was a man who seemed quiet and moody, I knew in an instant St. Nick had the duty.
As quickly as Monday his billy goats came, He whistled and shouted and called them by name.
"Now Perry, now Farragut, Dewey and Jones, What's the matter John Paul, got lead in your bones?
A little to Starb'rd, now hold it up short, No fluffing off now, or you'll go on report!"
He was wearing dress "Reds" that fit like a charm, His hash marks they covered the length of his arm.
The gifts to be issued were all in his pack, The gedunk was ready to leave on each rack.
His eyes they were watering, his nose caked with ice, He wiped it with canvass, then sneezed once or twice.
He opened his mouth and started to yawn, It looked like the Sun coming up with the dawn.
The stump of a pipe, he held tight in his teeth, And took a small nip from a bottle of bourbon beneath.
He wasn't so big, but he must have been strong, I figured he'd been in SEALs early and long.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Tar, Who said "Evenin' Matey, here - have a cigar."
He filled every seabag with presents galore, And left us a stack of leave chits, right by the door.
With "Anchors Aweigh" he climbed back into place, A broad smile was creeping all over his face.
One look at his watch and he started to frown, "This mid watch is certainly getting me down."
Then out to the breakwater and into the night, The gig started fading, the landscape was bright.
"Merry Christmas" he said, as he drove on his way, "Now I'll finish my rounds and rack out for the day."

I enlisted in the Navy a few months ago. The further I progressed, the more injured I seemed to get, between the reckless 17 year old morons surrounding me and the training itself. (E.g. at uniform issue at like P-5 as I was about to try on the boots, one of those aforementioned morons slammed into my trying to run down the rows, causing me to slip and my face slam into the edge of the table, causing my tooth to go through my lip, 3 stitches, a bruise as the left jaw joint, and jaw popping ever since. Literally the day after that another idiot in my division broke my toe running laps in the boots at the compartment, during hygiene.)
Fast forward, I end up going to medical several times, initially because of shoulder issues from PT and IT, foot issues from idiots and from the boots/go-fasters that were for flat footed people even though I have high arches, and later for knee and hip issues as well.
I get sent to SMART for assessment for my hypermobility.
The guy doesn't assess me, he tells me I just need to do more pushups, even though the pushups are causing my shoulder to get worse.
I'm written as fit for full, so needless to say I returned.
This time, someone else. He ALSO doesn't assess my hypermobility, instead he whips out a 15 appointment phase two combined upper and lower extremity routine that on the chit was only listed as lower. I go through it, it's fucking my knees up. I made an appointment midway, explained at my knees were popping every single rotation, and that since I was going 60 RPM for 30 minutes, that meant my knees popped more than 3600 times collectively. The PT responded "so? Is it painful?" then acted like I wasted his fucking time. After being told to just finish the routine, I did so, continuing to have pain and discomfort at most primary joints. I had my phase 2 follow-up appointment, but it was a different PT than the one who gave me the phase 2 plan. This PT asked if any of my issues improved, I said no. He asked if I felt motivated to continue, I said no. He then assessed my hypermobility from a page for Ehlers Danlos Syndrome type 3.
My paperwork makes no mention of EDS type 3, despite that being the diagnostic information used. Despite the fact my knees and shoulder were wrecked by everything, I was given the entry level separation for "erroneous enlistment as evidenced by a physical or mental condition that existed prior to entry", and was provided as diagnosis that is not EDS Type 3, but simply "preexisting joint hypermobility that is symptomatic of EPTS".
So now I'm home. I barely sleep, I have no energy. My joints hurts. The military wants to pretend as though I was never in, but that doesn't match the reality of what I feel. What do I even do at this point? I don't have any desire to be called a veteran or anything like that, I just want something that assures me that I didn't fuck every joint in my body for little more than shit pay.

Looking for advice or guidance on what to do for one of my Sailors,
Backstory: This sailor has been onboard for <2 months and has already earned four counseling chits (3 Related to watchstanding as a UI and one due to several issues relating to missing muster). About two weeks ago, he decided to drink underage with his of-age friends. He was first reported drunk in the Liberty Center by the staff there, and was later found walking around base (assumedly heading back to the ship) with vomit on his chest and a backpack full of liquor. Im not exactly sure the problem but I know he's been having a hard time adjusting and has stated multiple times he's wanted to get out. Obviously I agree that he isn't fit for the Navy but here's the main problem: He refuses to give up the names of the guys he was with who supplied him with Alcohol. Ill be honest, under normal I'd commend him for no being a Blue Falcon; HOWEVER, these guys left him stranded, drunk off his ass with all the booze they had (I can assume at least two of them were also underage but he refuses to give any details). He's already gone through the ringer with our immediate CoC, and with MCRB. Still hasn't cracked. Several of us in the division have talked to him about what this could do to his career (we realize hes given up on the navy at this point), what it could do to him outside the navy if he gets a bad conduct, OTH or Dishonorable discharge, and he still refuses. I refuse to give up on him though and am wondering what sense I could talk into him before XOI/Mast.
Edit: I worded this poorly, Ill elaborate:
While I and many others have discussed what the consequences of his decision to not spill, I am more concerned about what he's going to do or say at XOI/Mast, he's determined to burn bridges on his way down and I'm trying to convince him to just let it lie, and deal with the consequences after.
Edit 2: Im not in a really authoritive position, just trying to look out for this kid. Im not entirely up to date on how he can be punished or what the limits are aside from what I've gone through.

Hello to anyone that has served or is serving 😁👋🏻
I have never been enlisted in any branches or served what-so-ever but I am working on a final essay that is worth 40 percent of my grade. As much research as I do though, sometimes the one speaks for all research just doesn't give out accurate information.
So; my topic is on the difference in social structure and differences in the branches compared to civilian life and also social interactions among all the branches!
Anyway I would love to get your thoughts, information, or opinion on the differences.
Some questions I would love for an answer though:

• When interacting between different branches is there any rivalry and does rank still apply? (I assume it does but is it different at all?)
• Unspoken rules that may still apply when you go back to civilian life that applies to military life that may be hard to shake.
• How does social structure of the military effect daily life when you're enlisted and when you're not enlisted(on leave? I apologize if I dont use the right terms!)

​
Ive already started formal research but hearing from those enlisted now would be great.
I know some basics(or if this is wrong feel free to correct me) that obviously ranks play a factor. Anyone that may be a rank above you, youre not just going to have a chit chat, and respect is expected.
Anyway if you take time out of your day to help me gain this knowledge I'd appreciate it so much! Also thank you for your service of course!
I appreciate any and all replies 😁
EDIT/Update So I've been able to give enough background to establish the basics if how interactions go but I still need to address difficulties One difficulty in the social aspect I believe is communication in the case of physical/mental health. If one is struggling with mental health or got hurt it might end their career in the forces. Due to ptsd/depression/mental health or a physical injury that just might disqualify you. So the difficulty I'm bringing up is that with the hiarchy/rank system the military/navy/etc/forces have and how that limits communication in fear of being dishonorable discharged from the forces.

Hey there military people 😁👋🏻
I am not in the military what-so-ever but I am working on a final essay that is worth 40 percent of my grade. As much research as I do though, sometimes the true information isnt seen easily.
So; my topic is on the difference in social structure and differences in the branches compared to civilian life and also social interactions among all the branches!
Anyway I would love to get your thoughts, information, or opinion on the differences.
Some questions I would love for an answer though:

• When interacting between different branches is there any rivalry and does rank still apply? (I assume it does but is it different at all?)
• Unspoken rules that may still apply when you go back to civilian life that applies to military life that may be hard to shake.
• How does social structure of the military effect daily life when you're enlisted and when you're not enlisted(on leave? I apologize if I dont use the right terms!)

​
Ive already started formal research but hearing from those enlisted now would be great.
I know some basics(or if this is wrong feel free to correct me) that obviously ranks play a factor. Anyone that may be a rank above you, youre not just going to have a chit chat, and respect is expected.
Anyway if you take time out of your day to help me gain this knowledge I'd appreciate it so much! Also thank you for your service of course!
I appreciate any and all replies 😁 EDIT/UPDATE So I've been able to give enough background to establish the basics if how interactions go but I still need to address difficulties One difficulty in the social aspect I believe is communication in the case of physical/mental health. If one is struggling with mental health or got hurt it might end their career in the forces. Due to ptsd/depression/mental health or a physical injury that just might disqualify you. So the difficulty I'm bringing up is that with the hiarchy/rank system the military/navy/etc/forces have and how that limits communication in fear of being dishonorable discharged from the forces.

For starters as funny as it sounds, I’m a lifelong plane nerd and never had a chance to fly (21 currently). I’ve always hated rollercoasters and g-force and the slight fear of not being in control. I’m 1000% aware of every safety statistic and have zero safety fears, it’s just the aforementioned reasons that affected me. My reasoning for my first flights funnily enough was for a Marine Corp Aircraft ceremony at Miramar.
Enough chit chat, I’ll try and touch on the full experience:
Takeoff: takeoff was as expected (PHX 7L) followed by a 180 turn towards SAN. Takeoff acceleration feels like flooring a road car. You aren’t pinned at all, but you feel the speed in your gut. Rotation (first bit of takeoff) is the steepest and you’ll feel like you’re falling as the wheels leave the ground. This quickly subsides as the pitch decreases in favor of airspeed.
Flaps: Another thing to keep an eye for during the first couple minutes are the flaps retracting. As speed increases, the need for extra lift decreases. The pilots will raise flaps which reduce extra lift which is now not needed. You will feel a sudden drop a few times during the first couple minutes of flight. The drop feels like maybe doing a cannonball into a pool. Noticeable but not noteworthy
Banking: This is the funny part, I was expecting banking to feel like I was falling sideways but you almost don’t feel it at all, there were multiple times we banked 20 degrees or more and I had zero clue. During tight turns such as entering the downwind, it may help to tilt your head in the opposite way and maybe close your eyes to artificially correct the bank.
Landing: As expected by myself, landing isn’t how it’s imagined. You won’t actually point down often. I only had one moment where that happened on the return flight which sucked, but I’ll explain that later. You will feel the aircraft go slower and feel bulkier as you lose speed and lift. The flaps lower and feel like you are getting on the breaks in your car. Zero whiplash or anything obviously. Like most things flying, you will only feel the change of speed in your gut. Touchdown can be soft or hard depending on if the runway approach is steep such as San Diego or if your pilot used to fly in the navy ;)
Turbulence: My return flight sucked. My first flight went very well, however the trip back was a departure into some good sized storm clouds which caused some rocking on takeoff and light turbulence into the clouds. Arrival was unpleasant enough that the normal passengers looked uncomfortable. There was a lot of turbulence into Phoenix today. I could tell the plane was being hand flown from further out than what it was like into SAN. the nose dropped a couple of times which made me uncomfortable and on our 10 mile final there were a few heavy bumps that feel like a big drop. You’re fine, it’s completely normal. A 15 foot drop in altitude at 4000 feet is nothing. We also had a fair bit of crosswind (pilots check late afternoon weather history for PHX on 8/2/23). It sucked, but if you crank music and close your eyes it makes it better.
Overall I’d definitely fly again. It’s way better than what I expected it to be. I can’t imagine I’ll fly in worse than what I experienced during arrival though, which is putting zero blame on the pilot who was absolutely amazing at fighting the wind, it’s just the conditions…

Just wanted to share my experience as a first-timer shopping in Paris.
We first went to the store on Cambon on Monday and we’re told it was a 40 min wait to see a SA. We walked around the ground floor but it was very busy with people waiting so we left after a quick look.
We went back today (Thursday) and I asked how long the wait to see an SA was and was initially told an hour and a quickly corrected as 25 minutes and was brought to the second floor where it was less busy and could browse the bags there. Lots of white and red bags and some amount of blue, navy and black bags on display.
While waiting, I had to go to the restrooms which were the next floor up and saw an even greater selection of clothing and bags on that floor.
When my SA approached me and asked what I wanted, I told him my dream bag was the Chanel flap with gold hardware and he smiled and said he’d see what he could do, and it was the first time I was hopeful with this visit. He ended up bringing out the medium flap bag in caviar and I teared up a bit in store; I think I’d convinced myself it wasn’t going to be available to me in lambskin let alone caviar.
We were chit chatting and the impression was that if I had come on a Friday or Saturday, I wouldn’t have been so lucky. I also do speak a conversational amount of French so I’m not sure if that played into it at all, but I’m overall very happy with the experience. I’m loving the new bag!

The focus switches back to John several months ago and how he got such a miserable assignment. A blast from hte past comes back and conscripts him once more. I hope you enjoy.
The next chapter will be out on Saturday!
Terran Space Story: The Commander Saga
Academy Days Lieutenant Saga
First Previous Next

Chapter 1: Making a Deal with the Devil

7 Months Ago. May 3rd, 2267. 08:30 St. Mary’s Station – First Fleet Command
Newly promoted Lieutenant Commander John Lief nodded at the secretaries as he was cleared into the secure portion of First Fleet’s operations department on the station. He was dressed in plain clothes due to being contacted out of the blue just fifteen minutes ago.
One part of him was annoyed at being called in to work while on leave. The other part of him, which was focused on installing a shelf in his and Alice’s condo, didn’t mind the distraction. He was quite bored at doing all of the house upgrades Alice wanted and any distraction, even this, was welcomed to some degree.
Of course, he would never openly admit that to anyone. John was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Alice’s wrath was something to be concerned about if you got on her bad side. John had seen that side of her a couple of times and swore to himself that he’d never get downrange of that ever.
John was, however, worried about what this meeting was about. Something about it felt wrong to him, but he couldn’t quite place it. It was like work that he didn’t think needed to be dealt with for another two weeks. For better or worse though, here he was about to walk into the meeting room.
John pressed the announcement button and waited for the doors to open. Moments later a voice in the speaker came in and said enter a second before the doors opened. Admiral Timothy Dufresne, First Fleet’s new commanding officer smiled at him. Sitting at the end of the table to Tim’s right was John’s new division report, Admiral Kasey Thames.
Kasey was an intelligent woman with a well-known nasty, vicious streak. A ‘cross her at your own peril’ kind of officer. She was about as dissimilar to Tim as you could get. John hadn’t spent any time with her and honestly didn’t know what to expect in a working relationship with her beyond what her reputation suggested.
On Tim’s left though was an unusual and most unwelcome visitor though. Director LeCroix of Naval Intelligence sat in the chair. His face bore the look of a concerned man, but it also appeared to John that he was deeply confused about a situation. He also looked uncomfortable and frustrated at being in the room.
“Morning Admirals, Director, how may I be of service?” John said after quickly saluting.
“Morning Commander. Please take a seat,” Admiral Dufresne said, “And before we go any farther this meeting is not being recorded and did not happen. I trust you know what that means.”
“One of those deals, eh?” John said sarcastically as he sat down, “I am keenly aware of these types of situations.”
“I’d check your tone, Commander,” Kasey said, “This is a serious situation.”
John nodded at his new division commander and said, “When isn’t it when Naval Intelligence is involved? Why are you here Director?”
“We have a situation and it seems that we are in need of your unique set of talents.”
John chuckled, “Well, I’m out of commission for a while as the Waukesha is out of service for at least ten months now. I suppose I can lend some desk work to y’all.”
“Great, you’ll get the debriefing and head to Vosture Prime immediately,” Admiral Dufresne said, “I’m not transferring you to Naval Intelligence’s chain of command, but you will report to them temporarily.”
John heard everything but had a hard time believing what he had heard. It was almost like his brain, his personal computer, crashed due to a blue screen. Adding to the confusion was the absolute silence in the room.
“The hell you are, sir,” John paused a brief moment before cutting through the tension, “Respectfully, I’m not an agent anymore. I’m a line officer in the Navy. The days of me being an agent are long gone.”
“Commander, I don’t think you fully appreciate the situation we’re in,” Director LeCroix said.
“Then explain it to me, because you know damn well how poorly planned missions go when agents aren’t bought into the issue fully,” John’s composure was lost, “I’m being sent on a fucking wild goose chase with absolutely nothing to go on.”
“We believe a colony of ours is being invaded by an unknown adversary. We’ve lost contact with all but one old relay satellite orbiting Vosture Prime. Compounding issues is that both of the agents that were stationed on the surface are missing, presumed dead.”
“What are the agents and staff on the primary station doing about this?”
“Agent, there was a team of two on the ground. When they went silent the remaining agent began investigating their disappearance. He’s now missing as well,” Director LeCroix sighed loudly, “He went to the surface to investigate two things. The irregularities in the colony’s transmissions and losing contact with its peers. Regarding the former, it was noticed that a number of work projects and mining tasks were subtly changed for reasons unknown.”
Director LeCroix activated the holographic display built into the desk. Reams of data began to appear. Something big was happening but great lengths were undertaken to hide whatever it was to be constructed. But the data was over a month old, which meant John would be walking into a highly dangerous situation.
“Why me? I’ve been out of the game too long to be a deep cover agent.”
“Your worst days now are frankly better than my best agents’ great days today. You can do things they can’t. I need your expertise on this matter.”
John stood still and thought for a moment, “I’m not in the game anymore. Send the fleet in. Problem solved.”
“Eighth Fleet doesn’t want to make a permanent home in this world. While slip space is preternaturally calm in the system, it’s usually a stormy trek getting there due to several convergence points,” Kasey said, “We’re also not convinced the troublemakers won’t just go into hiding and reemerge before leaving empty-handed.”
“I have to talk to my wife about this. This…” John paused, “Is almost too much.”
Admiral Dufresne then changed the tone of the conversation entirely, “Commander, you will be going there following the end of this meeting. Your talents are required there. Your wife will be kept in the dark.”
John’s face became a shade of red. Anger spread across his features. Before he was able to verbalize his anger, and thus get into a fair amount of trouble with not one but both of his immediate superiors, Director LeCroix interrupted him.
“It’s a necessary evil to ensure that the enemy combatants, whoever they may be, can’t trace you back to anyone or anything. It’s easier for an agent without attachments to do such a thing.”
“She needs to know.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible Commander,” Kasey said, “Your cover story is that you are Commander Steven Hart. Your family was supremely wealthy but abdicated most of its wealth when your parents emigrated to the Confederacy shortly after you were born. Your father was able to rebuild his wealth here and was a dedicated survivalist, so he taught you and your siblings extensive outdoor skills.”
John sighed as he read through the dossier of the identity he was being forced to inhabit for the foreseeable future. Social media profiles were created, and a new genetic entry was crafted to enable easier entry into colonies. There were a surprising number of additional IDs and names available to him for this mission.
“I was caught up in a bribery scheme where I pocketed several million credits, which conveniently went missing before trial, by having Fourth Fleet buy supplies from Narvent Industries,” John’s anger still hadn’t subsided as he read portions of the dossier out loud, “The judge, despite finding me guilty, granted me a week to get my affairs in order before I’d head to military prison. So, I absconded, with my father’s support, then fucked off to the frontier.”
“John Lief doesn’t exist anymore, not at least until the mission is finished,” Director LeCroix said, “No one can know but us. This mission is entirely off the books.”
“What assurances do I have that when I successfully resolve it that John Lief will once again reappear?” John leaned back in his chair, “Heaven forbid a clerical error would happen and you magically find Steven on some shitty frontier colony and lock him up for fifteen to twenty.”
“That is a bit insulting to say, commander,” Kasey said.
“Then let me be clearer,” John said, “I’ll do this mission. But I will burn this institution and all of you to the fucking ground if anyone tries anything clever. You think I’m dangerous, wait till you see me without a leash, morals, or ethics holding me back. I will burn this whole fucking galaxy to the ground…”
“The threat is not needed. If you complete this mission, you will be brought back into the fold so you can serve in the open once again,” Admiral Dufresne said.
“What are my mission parameters?” John looked at Director LeCroix.
“There’s a homestead a casual hour to two outside of the city. Beneath the quaint home is one of our bunkers. All the gear you need can be found there, it is fully stocked. As for what the rules of engagement are, there are none.”
John’s face looked puzzled, “Every mission has parameters, Director. There are limits…”
“Not this one. If you need to kill every last colonist, then do so. Success is the only thing that matters in this case. How you achieve your mission is entirely up to you.”
John looked at the two admirals and they were as confused as he. If not more so. Never before had he been given no mission parameters. He had ignored or outright violated them in the past in order to achieve a mission, but they had always been present.
Kasey broke the silence, “Director, missions always have parameters. I agree with my subordinate, this is most unusual.”
“You do realize what John is capable of, you were at least aware of, if not directly responsible for several of his missions before his transfer to the fleet,” Admiral Dufresne said quietly, “I believe Commander Lief has grown a great deal, but even still.”
“There is no leash on this mission. Success must be achieved at all costs,” Director LeCroix said calmly.
“What is really going on?” John asked, “You do not just send an agent in with a green light for everything if you’ve lost a couple of agents and can’t call up some satellites. What intel are you withholding?”
Director LeCroix closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “We do not know. That is why we are as up in arms at this as we are. I don’t know anything more than what I’m telling you.”
John pinched the bridge of his nose and recentered himself, “This situation reeks of a setup.”
“I assure you it is not. There is a counter-op working the likes of which we’ve never seen,” Director LeCroix looked at John, “You are the best the universe has ever seen in this role. We need the best right now.”
“I was as good as I was because I could forcibly make believe what I wanted them to. You are aware I no longer can do that right?”
“Your ability to adapt to any scenario is second to none. There is one and only one person that successfully pulls this mission off. I do not say this lightly.”
Director LeCroix knew that John was very vainglorious. It didn’t take much to butter up his ego, but it was the truth. While Naval Intelligence had hundreds of specially skilled agents, none would get by John. John, however, would be able to run laps around the vast majority of Director LeCroix’s agents. Even the best would be hard-pressed to stop a determined John.
“Seems like my choices are to accept this mission or resign my commission.”
“There isn’t a choice at all John,” Admiral Dufresne said, “I do not want to risk losing an asset that I believe will be sitting in this very seat in a bit over a decade. But the fact that our teams were sussed out and our intelligence-gathering abilities have gone dark indicates something big is happening. Something that unfortunately only you can take care of.”
“Here’s a navy rucksack with everything that you’ll need,” Kasey said as she dropped the pack on the desk, “Your keys, wallet, tablet, and any data slates that you have on you will need to be handed over. None of that can go with you on your mission.”
John stood up and emptied his pockets on the desk. Cargo shorts were wonderful for the extra storage they have. Disappointingly the only things that he dropped on the desk were his wallet, a set of keycards that granted him access to different rooms in the command center, his keys, and a tablet. The three leaders didn’t see John palm a data drive that he pulled from his tablet.
He reached over and picked up the small rucksack and opened it up. His wallet contained his ID card and digital passport. There were a few credit chits and some clothing. John grabbed two of the chits and his new tablet and slid them into his pocket along with his wallet.
“Once again, your safehouse has everything you’ll need to accomplish your mission,” Director LeCroix said, “Good luck Commander Hart.”
John shook his head as he walked out of the door. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d be trailed. A pair of Marines escorted him out of the facility, to make it more realistic he was shoved by one of them as they threw him out of the command center. His tablet then began to vibrate in his pocket.
He sighed loudly before picking it up and walking into the commercial district, “You don’t have time to shop,” the voice said as he pressed it to his ear, “Head to the commercial docking ring. You need to board a commercial flight to the Leonidas system. From there you’ll get on a connecting flight to Vosture Prime.”
“First class, right?”
“Well, you see…”
John hung up and pulled up his boarding passes. To add insult to injury, he wasn’t just in economy class but in the unassigned economy class. He shook his head as he walked over to a public console.
“Fucking idiots, I’m not going to travel anywhere and be treated like fucking luggage,” John said under his breath as he worked on the console.
John’s old scheme of defrauding air and void lines flashed back in his mind. There were numerous backdoor means of accomplishing this. His newfound identity was that of a rich man, disgraced as he may currently be. No matter how far the man had fallen he wouldn’t tolerate public transportation at the level Naval Intelligence paid for.
The first leg of the flight would last three days. The second was almost eighteen, though that could extend to nearly twenty-five days. Three or four weeks of being cooped up in a tin can. John sighed as he progressed through the systems. One of the backdoors was closed but others remained. His tickets were quietly upgraded to the more luxurious cabin. His late adjustment meant that some of the more preferential meal options were no longer available, but that made little difference, what was available was acceptable.
John saved the changes to his tickets and logged out of the system. Just as he walked away from the public console a man bumped into him. He felt the man clip a hoody onto his backpack. John continued walking like it was no big deal.
When he got to the elevators, he pulled the backpack off his back and quickly unclipped the hoody, and threw it on. There was an earpiece taped inside the pocket. He discreetly removed it and slipped it into his ear.
Just as John was about to pair it with his tablet a call went off. John pressed the earpiece gently and sighed as he closed his eyes.
“We’ve got our eyes on you. You once again…”
The doors to the elevator opened. John walked inside and selected the fifteenth level. He also quickly pressed the door close button.
“I’m a rich guy. I’m not flying in peasant class; you know damn well that a person of my station wouldn’t fly in less. Deal with it.”
“We’re watching you. Make no efforts to leave a message for any friends.”
John nodded but didn’t respond verbally. He securely entered one of his remote servers, unbeknownst to his watchers, and downloaded a copy of Eve onto his tablet. Several orders were given to her but all of them failed to run, she wouldn’t be able to do any of them until she got into a more powerful system than this tablet.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” John finally responded after cursing under his breath.
As the elevator slowly went up to the destination John quickly downloaded another set of applications, this time focused on highlighting where surveillance systems were. He put on some innocuous-looking sunglasses, entirely inappropriate to wear indoors at a station but he was far from the only idiot wearing them that morning. As he looked out on the promenade below numerous cameras were detected and displayed on John’s glasses.
“I presume you know the gate?” the agent’s voice asked.
“I did. Boarding begins in fifteen minutes. It’s a five-minute walk from here,” John closed his eyes once again, “I’m sure you’re watching me do every little thing.”
“We are. Don’t be stupid. You don’t want to involve anyone else in this.”
“No, I’m sure you’re right,” John said sardonically as he muted his line.
He was already reviewing the gate and where the surveillance cameras were. He needed to deliver a message but how and to who? True this was a violation of orders, but he felt he was within his rights to do just that.
Then John paused, would Naval Intelligence partner with the Psycorps to wipe him from the memory of any he had interacted with? He shook his head, that was unlikely. If he was a full-time agent then that was a possibility due to the low number of people that had any real interactions with him. Doing that to an officer would be a herculean effort.
The doors then opened. John walked out at a steady pace. He strode confidently towards his gate, always walking in a place where the trailing agents could optimally see him. He knew of at least one agent on the ground that was watching him. There was sure to be at least another at the gate.
“Is the rush really worth it?” John asked after unmuting himself.
“Yes, it is.”
John shrugged as he got to his gate. He found a seat near a pillar that blocked all of the surveillance cameras in the area. Next to him was a young mother who was partially asleep and a very bored looking six-year-old.
He smiled at the boy when he waved at him. John took the seat next to him, and then the improbable happened. Andern, of all people, was improbably here on the station. He could see Kristin jogging to catch up to him from the catwalk.
John knew what he had to do. He pulled out the small data drive, which contained his official record, on his armrest, and muted his headpiece once again. He looked at his shoes and leaned over to tie them and whispered to the young boy.
‘Look up at the line of people, see that black guy and pretty brunette leaving that gate?’
The boy nodded, “Yeah.”
‘His name is Andern. Take this chip-thing on my armrest in your hand, run up to him, punch him, then give him that. I’ll give you this.’
John flashed the kid a credit chit. While he was young, he instantly knew what it was. He happily took the data slate in his hand and ran off after the stranger. He then set not one, but two credit chits on the boy’s blanket and stood up.
John unmuted his headpiece, “Don’t even know why I sat down. Boarding is beginning.”
“Don’t do anything funny.”
“Like try to escape from the flight?” John said with a smirk.
“You will…”
“I know my mission,” John said quietly, “I will see it through to the end. We’re done now.”
John pulled the earpiece from his ear and tossed it in the trashcan he walked by. He strolled to the queue and was the third to board the voidliner. With his boarding pass on his tablet in one hand and his digital passport in his other, he waited for the boarding agent to confirm his identity. Thankfully the wait was short.
“Name please?”
“Stephen Hurt,” John smiled as she scanned the information.
John would be someone entirely different on Vosture Prime. Ironically, he’d be someone very other on these flights too. There were no less than four different identities available for him to use. But the gate agent and no one else outside of three souls knew this.
“Oh, good morning Mr. Hurt. You are seated in the premium cabin, suite three. Take a left after boarding our liner and it’ll be the third one on your left.”
John smiled, “Much appreciated.”
The smile disappeared quickly. Just as he walked onto the docking umbilical he could hear the excited voice of a child yell, ‘ANDERN!’ The smile returned when he heard his friend swear loudly but then apologize quickly to his attacker. A heartbeat later he could faintly hear a mother start to apologize for her son’s actions.
Would it work? If it hadn’t John didn’t have any reliable means to get a message, even with Eve, that was untraceable back to Alice. As John stepped onto the voidliner he cursed the military for its order. He’d follow it through, but they were threatening his very relationship with his wife. John had a hard time being happy or smiling when he stepped into his one-bedroom suite onboard the spacious liner.
“What a weird and wild universe we exist in,” John said as he sat his backpack on one of the chairs.

So in Basic Training, in San Diego before it was shut down I entered the Navy under the watchful eye of Petty Officer First Class "Wannabe". Now that was not his real name, but the PO was up for Chief Petty Officer, and they seriously harass you when you go for the grade. See, it is not just time in grade and test scores, you have to be selected by your peers. Cue the harassment in calling him "Chief Wannabe". We were ordered to comply with this name change. He is made to wear a nametag with Chief WANNABE on it in Magic Marker written on masking tape over his real nametag.
So Chief Wantanabe, aka "Chief WANNABE", did not bear this with much grace. He was not a bad guy (See the end for a bonus story example) but this really irritated him and made him grumpy. A grumpy Filipino Company Officer was not fun at times.
One of his great insults was if anyone was lagging behind you would hear "Wassamatta, Torn-ton?! Your DICK BROKE?!" Chief's voice is getting louder as he says each word.
Seaman Torn-ton... I mean Seaman Thornton... was the target of WANNABE's ire as he was a slow dude. From West Virgina he was the one guy that could not walk in time with the rest of group. Tall and gangling he was just clumsy as hell.
So later in the Basic Training cycle the CO and XO get to go home at night and we take care of ourselves. Thornton is in his bed, grabbing his nuts and moaning. He managed to rack them pretty good on the obstacle course the previous day or so ago on something and was now in considerable pain.
"I should go to the infirmary." he groan. We weren't sure what to do. It was lights out. Us squad leads got our heads together. We would send the Squad XO with him to make sure it was ok. They left. Never came back from the infirmary till morning.
Thornton had an infection in his ballsack. It was swollen like a grapefruit... ok, more like an orange. He was on strong antibiotics and painkillers and no PT or other physical exertion.
And one more thing.... his balls were in a sling. Kinda like a jockstrap but it had this hole for his dick so he could piss without taking it off. Funniest fucking thing fucking ever. He stood up on the table and proudly proclaimed "Look guys My Dick is Broke!" in the Chief's strong accent.
Chief comes in later to do our morning PT. Thornton heads outside where we are assembling in front of the old concrete laundry tables where in the past, recruits had to scrub their clothes. Thank god they just send them to the central laundry by the time I am in the Navy.
Chief is short, so he climbs up on one to address us as always and notices Thornton sitting on the bench, meaning he can't participate in PT.
"Torn-ton... you summabitch... wassamatta with you? YOUR DICK BROKE?!"
Thornton stands up to attention "SIR, YES, SIR!"
"Torn-ton, it is too early for your shit this morning... I am gonna make them do double if you are fucking with me, Torn-ton."
"Sir, my Dick Is Broke, Sir!"
Chief Wannabe's eyes narrow and his voices gets really really quiet. "Lemme see, Torn-ton... lemme see your Broken Dick Chit."
Chit meaning the paperwork excusing him from PT, not him saying "Shit" with an accent. Cue malicious compliance.
Thornton drops his PT shorts, exposing his Broken Dick in a Sling to all the world and Chief "Wannabe" eyes bug out. Then his eyebrows knit together in anger. Hands come up to cover his face in a double facepalm. He is so mad he is shaking, and has to sit down...
Wait, is he laughing?! Yes he is. The sound is jarring. Unreal. Impossible.
"Torn-ton. 20 years in the Navy and that is the first honest to god Broke Dick I have ever seen. Everybody fuckin' inside on Earthquake Watch until I say so."
Earthquake Watch is where we all lie down on the floor, get real quiet and listen for earthquakes... in other words a little extra shuteye. Meanwhile Chief Wannabe is outside laughing his ass off telling the other CO/XOs about The Broke Dick.

Bonus story, Featuring Chief WANNABE and Seaman Torn-Ton.

No MC here, so here it is at the end...
Mentioned Chief is up for E7, and Thornton can't march worth shit. So our Field Parade Practical is up. We pass with a 97 or above and we get a little gold patch for our company standard if my memory serves correctly.
Ain't gonna happen with Thornton in the group and we know it. But Chief has a plan.
"Torn-Ton, get up here." he says as we form up to head over for the Practical.
"Sir, Yes Sir, Seaman Torn-Ton reporting as ordered, Sir." Shit. Now even he is saying it.
"Relax son. You got a slight limp there Torn-ton, you sure you don't need to go to the infirmary? Gonna be a lot of marching out there, son." This should be a clue. It is not. Torn-ton is not the smartest guy.
"Sir, I am fi... OWWWW!" as Chief WANNABE steps on Thornton's foot.
"Infirmary, Torn-ton, that is an order."
Thornton limps off to the infirmary, we go out and score 100%. Chief WANNABE is practically beaming because this checks off the last box on his list for E7. Sure, it is bullshit, but this is part of the hazing for him.
We get back, Thornton is in PT gear now, back from the infirmary, Chief tells us to change too, he has some extra special PT after that "pathetic" showing out on the field. (We don't know our score. We thought we did good! I mean he looked happy... did we fuck something up?)
We change, he orders us to form a line along the tables in the middle of the room. XO comes in with some guys carrying bags of FUCKING MCDONALDS!.
Chief bought us all, out of his pocket, Big Mac's, with Large Fries and Large Cokes. After weeks eating Mess Hall chow and being hungry all the time, it is like FUCKING NIRVANA!
And his tag now says "Chief Wantanabe"

First Chapter/Previous Chapter
The lasers struck the Everwatchful, and everyone braced themselves. Useri and Juife were safely secured in their harness when the hull was superheated and then cooled just as quickly; at this point, the air pressure cracked it like an egg and sent everything not nailed down flying into space.
Unlike the movies, the rush of air lasted only a few seconds before the pressure equalised, and the pair removed themselves from their restraints.
The Everwatchfuls engines had managed to fire up before being stuck, so they were now tumbling away from the A.O.E. They were not going fast for spinning quickly, but it was enough the Useri and Juife could feel a faint centrifugal force on their bodies.
The bridge was so the two headed for the airlock that separated them from the rest of the ship and prayed it still worked. Their armour had just enough air for a couple of minutes of space time.
“Talk to me, is everyone still alive!” Useri demanded, and he thanked whatever god watched over them; the airlock still worked.
“We’re alive,” Citro replied, “and we still have air, one of the benefits of engineering, far away from the hull.
“I want a sit-rep in five minutes!” Useri ordered.
“Will do,” Citro replied, with what Useri could only describe as forced optimism, not that he blamed her.
Behind him, Juife slammed their fist into the wall, an act Useri would have loved to copy. He could not; he was a ranked officer, he needed to be in control, even more so when Captain Melia was not around.
“Easy, Juife, we’ll get out of this; we just need to keep our wits about us,” Useri said.
Juife breathed deeply and replied, “Yes, Lieutenant.”
The route to engineering was obstructed by a locked door; the bulkheads automatically sealed, meaning that the corridor they contained was exposed to a vacuum. Useri wondered just how much of their ship had been torn to bits but the urens’ weapons.
“Ewen, Citro, please tell me the ship hasn’t been cut in two,” Useri called.
“No, the lower decks are mostly intact; you just need to go the long way around,” Ewen replied.
Useri ground his tooth plates but kept himself focused; he must not obsess on what he could not change but keep his attention on what he could.
“We’ll be there in about three to four minutes,” Useri said before leading Juife to their destination.

“Please tell me you have good news,” Useri said as he entered engineering, closing the door after Juife passed through.
Useri would reprimand them for the clutter strewn about the place, clutter he knew for a fact had been there before the Ever Watchful had been hit. Yet he didn’t for two reasons, one the Captain had already done so many times, to no avail.
Secondly, because despite the mess, it did not violate any regulations, all paths and routes through the room were kept clear and free of trip hazards.
The room was filled with half-finished projects and items going through routine maintenance, and there was a distinct twinge of oil in the air.
“Well, we’ve lost engines, pretty much everything at the top of the ship, F.T.L’s fried, and a lot of our food’s been spaced,” Ewen explained.
“I wanted good news,” Useri reminded the pair.
“We’ve still got water, and are manoeuvring thrusters should be fixable,” Citro replied.
“Oxygen shouldn’t be a problem, and while we can’t transmit, we can still receive broadcasts,” Ewen added.
“Now for the final piece of the news sandwich, some of our hull has been damaged but has not yet split; we want to reinforce it,” Citro explained.
“The news sandwich is supposed to go good news, bad news, good news,” Neful said as she finished wrapping the stump of what was once her finger.
“We put our own spin on it,” Citro said.
Useri and Juife kicked themselves for not noticing Neful’s injury sooner, and Juife asked, “Are you ok?”
“Not really,” Neful replied, injecting herself with a painkiller, “but I don’t have a lot of options.”
​
"Neful, you rest. Ewen, Citro, how do we sure up the hull?” Useri inquired.
“Poorly, but the patch job should be good enough that we don’t all get spaced,” Ewen replied, rummaging through her toolbox for welding torches.
“Now we’ve only got two, so we’ll split into two teams, Citro and I will lead each one; we’ve got seven areas that need work,” Ewen stated, and Useri did not argue, in all maintenance and repair matters, the engineers held sway, even the Captain could not countermand them.

Useri had gone with Citro, and his primary role in all this was to serve as a glorified pack animal, lugging the steel plating around. Though occasionally, he got the thrilling task of holding the plate while Citro welded it in place.
“Why were we only hit with a single volley?” Useri asked, more to himself than anything else.
“Well, it’s hard to say, but civilian craft aren’t allowed ship-to-ship weapons, so I imagine their battery was crudely hooked up to the power system and fried itself after a single round,” Citro explained without losing stride.
Useri had to admit it was impressive to watch the woman work; her torch flowed over metal, like a mechanical arm controlled it, not a flesh and blood vo’rul.
“Though I suppose the uren are just crap shots and don’t know the first thing about tactical fire is just as likely,” Citro added, putting down her torch and gently rapping the metal. “There, sturdy as an ohr,” she said proudly.
“They’re gonna be fine,” Citro said, looking at Useri, and the man could not tell who the statement was directed at.
“Yeah, they’ll be ok,” Useri replied, putting his hand on her arm.
“We need to get this finished before we get spaced,” Citro stated hastily; she was not used to such moral support from the Lieutenant. Useri was not a harsh man, but he was very reserved, and the stress of the situation left Citro with a sense of unease.
“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Useri said, grabbing the steel plates and following after Citro.
Even with his armour, this was a strenuous load.

The last panel was attached, and Juife asked Ewen, “What’s next?”
“Next, we perform a diagnostic on the thrusters, and we get this coffin stable and headed back the way we came,” Ewen explained as she contacted Citro to see how she was getting on.
“You said the thrusters were working,” Juife said, recalling what she had said prior.
“They are, but we don’t know how well, and after being shot at, they will probably need recalibrating,” Ewen replied. “Working and working correctly is not the same thing,” she added.
“How long will that take,” Juife asked, stretching their arms.
Ewen smacked her lips and thought about it before saying, “To get them all sorted, an hour or so, assuming we don’t need to make any parts.”
“Then what?” Juife asked.
“Then it’s up to you and the Lieutenant to decide,” Ewen replied. “Personally, I want to board that ship and make those feathers bastards bipedal.”
“I will take your suggestion into consideration,” Juife replied, and Ewen raised her fingers to show how much she appreciated it.
Rather than meet up at the engineering, Citro and Ewen decided it was best to remain in their groups and begin fixing the thrusters immediately; every second, they drifted further from the Zeforo, and every second counted.
Juife and Ewen’s first stop was underneath the hangar and involved a tight squeeze through a horizontal access shaft.
“Do you think the Lieutenant is holding up ok, you know, with the whole slaver thing?” Ewen asked once they were on the other side.
“What?” Juife asked.
“You know, he’s tinted and the whole slave trade thing,” Ewen said, her voice getting quieter as she spoke.
“That was a thousand years ago,” Juife pointed out.
“I know, but generational trauma and all that,” Ewen replied.
Ewen was uncomfortable talking about it, and Juife wondered why she had brought it up at all. Ewen’s ancestors had been the main beneficiaries from the Krasus sea slave trade, not directly Juife doubted
Ewen great great great grandparents had ever been much more than farmers and domestic help.
Still, it was not a proud moment in their history.
Juife themself was descended from native Roben islanders on the other side of the world, so they had little connection to it, though they did how it felt to know a foreign power exploited your ancestors.
“If the Lieutenant wants to talk about it, they may not be overly talkative, but I’ve never known him to keep his opinions to himself,” Juife explained.
“Come on; we’ve got thrusters to fix,” Juife add, patting Ewen on the back.

“Sodding thing,” Citro grumbled as she found another part that needed replacing.
“I take it the fix will not be quite as quick as you hoped,” Useri replied, taking the old damaged part as it was handed to him. After that, he pulled Citro out of the hole she was in and asked, “I don’t suppose I can do anything to help?”
Citro took a moment to think before saying, “Yes, they’re some printing supplies; in a cupboard a few doors down….”
“The port side storage room,” Useri said.
“That’s the one; bring me the ones with E2 written on them,” Citro explained, and Useri did just that while she set up the 3D printer. They had several of these devices scattered throughout the ship; it made it quicker and easier to perform emergency maintenance, as they were doing now.
These printers were smaller and less effective than the large one they had in engineering, and while they could not make anything as complex as the leading printer, they would be more than adequate for this simple repair job.
Citro needed a couple of washers, a few struts, and a gasket; not complicated, but it would eat up time, and in situations like this, she did not enjoy being idle. Citro envied her girlfriend; Ewen had a remarkably easy time doing nothing at all.
The Lieutenant returned a short time later, lugging a large canister; as he put it down, he rubbed his shoulder, a futile act considering the thick armour plating between him and his muscles.
“Are you ok, Lieutenant?” Citro asked, turning away from the gasket as layer upon layer of metal was laid to form the part.
“I think the decompression in the bridge pulled a muscle,” he explained, rotating his shoulder.
“Well, I’ll hook up the material; you take a break; pulled muscles are quite serious; in fact, you should probably go see Neful,” Citro said, taking the canister from Useri.
"You don’t need me here?” Useri asked with a mix of hope and disappointment.
“Your help would be appreciated and make it faster, but necessary, no,” Citro replied.
Just as Useri left the room, he got a call from Neful, “Lieutenant, we’ve got an unknown ship approaching the Zeforo.

Useri forgot all about his injured shoulder and ran straight to engineering; Ewen and Citro's den had become the unofficial bridge for the time being, and he quickly located the backup radio the engineers maintained.
After he removed fourteen kilograms of junk from it, naturally.
There was definitely something coming through, so Useri did his best to clear up the message.
“When did they arrive?” Useri asked.
“About five seconds before I called you,” Neful explained.
As Useri worked, he managed to get a choppy but understandable sentence. “…Javsa of Vo’rul border patrol; identify yourself,” Melia stated calmly.
Useri immediately contacted the rest of the crew and explained, “The Captain’s alive, and she seems fine.”
Whoops came through his earpiece, and Useri had to suppress making some of his own.
As he continued to listen, Useri learnt that it was a kireet ship used by a Senator of all things. He would have preferred the navy to arrive, but at this point, he would take what he would get.
While help was appreciated, their arrival gave the Everwatchful a ticking clock. They needed to get back and get their attention before they were left behind. The navy would show up regardless, and many safety officials, but with all the damage they took and the defences down, a stray asteroid could do significant damage and lead to their deaths.
Useri wished he could send out a single message just to let Melia know they were alive.
Melia’s conversation with the Senator was taking a strange turn; Melia did not sound grateful, quite the opposite; her tone was evidently distrustful.
Which in turn made Useri second guess himself, and that made him think. Melia must have had more knowledge than he did, and Useri tried to solve the problem.
Senator Basof said farewell, and the communication ended.
Running through what he knew, it did not take long for Useri to come to the correct conclusion. The Kireet were not here by chance; they were too far from the shipping lanes, which could only mean they had been looking for the Zeforo and considering Melia’s reaction, he very much doubted the Senator wanted to bring them to justice.
Useri informed the rest of his conclusion, and Juife said, “The universe does just love yanking our tentacles.”
“Citro, Ewen, do we have a rough idea of when we can get moving?” Useri asked.
“At this rate, I would say another two hours; that should get us the bare minimum to have basic manoeuvrability; we can fix the rest on the move,” Ewen answered.
“Plus, we need to reroute controls to the aft viewport,” Citro explained.
"And the radar system,” Ewen added.
“So much work to do,” Citro said.
“You always complain that we don’t have enough to do,” Ewen pointed out.
“Yeah, I like saying that more than I like doing stuff,” Citro countered.
“Focus,” Useri ordered, adding, “Let me know if you need help.”

Ewen and CItro had outdone themselves; with thirty minutes to spare, they had repaired the minimum amount of thrusters and set up a simple control system. It was nothing like what they had on the now-ruined bridge, but it would suffice.
As for his shoulder, Useri had not pulled a muscle, but it was severely bruised, and he needed to take it easy to prevent further damage.
Juife sat beside him, watching an old-fashioned radar system that Citro had whipped up. Usually, this would make it evident that someone was out there, but the engineer had done some wizardry to make their pulses look like background radio waves.
It would not pass a meaningful inspection, but it would fool anyone not looking for it. Ewen said they might be able to do something with it to get a message out, but they would have to tackle that later.
Neful was now operating the comms and monitoring the Senator's communications, which did not sound good. It would appear the kireet Politian was the mastermind behind all this, wanted his pets, and was willing to kill anyone in their way.
Sadly the, Ever Watchful's computer had taken some damage, and the translator was not working well. Granted, it had been pretty bad, to begin with, but now it was abysmal.
Upon hearing this, Ewen and Citro’s frantic pace had become manic and were pushing themselves hard, too hard, as far as Neful was concerned. The young medic seriously considered using her authority to make them slow down.
She wondered if it would do any good, Neful had only seen these two get this focused once before, and Ewen and Citro were almost a force of nature.
The minutes ticked by and became hours, Neful heard something about a gas attack, and several kireet mercenaries were dead and more injured, but she could not make out more.
Ewen and Citro were also working through their tasks, and the Ever Watchful was picking up speed with every repaired thruster.
“Lieutenant, we're approaching the Sentor’s vessel; what’s the plan?” asked Jiufe.
“Neful, what else have you heard?” Useri asked.
“Hard to say, but I believe that the Captain and the rest are not doing well; I think one of them is dead. I’m hearing something about “taking down,” Neful replied, keeping her emotions controlled.
“One of ours, or the aliens?” asked Useri.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant,” Neful answered.
Useri thought about it, they had two options, either they boarded the Zeforo and provided direct support to the Captain, or they could assault the Senator’s vessel and get him to call off the mercenaries.
He wanted to board the Zeforo, get in the fight, but he was quick to recall that most of the entrances were sealed shut. “Nice work, Keoki,” he whispered.
There were also the diseases that infested the Zeforo, and with Neful’s exposed wound added to the mix, it would not end well for her.
Not that attacking the Senator’s vessel did not present its own problems; even with a shuttle, they could hardly use the hangar, the Senator may be cruel, but Useri doubted he was that stupid, and they had no umbilical cord.
Useri ground his tooth plates before saying, “We need to get aboard that ship, suggestions.”
The crew went quiet as each person thought of a solution.
After some thought, Juife voiced the only plan they could think of, “We could space walk; our suit can keep us alive for two or three minutes in space.”
Useri replied immediately, “Not possible; Neful has a hole in her; she would never survive.”
“Actually, Lieutenant, I can use some medical supplies to make a seal; it would not be great but should be enough to get me into the ship,” Neful explained; she had had the same idea but had thought it was too ridiculous to work.
“Are there any other suggestions, one that doesn’t involve us spacing ourselves?” Useri asked.
“We could ram what’s left of the Everwtachful into the ship like a makeshift boarding torpedo,” Citro suggested.
Useri went quiet as he tried to parse that sentence, and then he asked, “What’s a boarding torpedo?”
“It’s a torpedo that’s shot at a ship full of people, you know to board a ship, very popular in sci-fi,” Citro explained.
“And the fact that anyone, Class J or not, who was subjected to that amount of force would be turned into paste doesn’t give you pause?” Useri replied.
“You asked for a plan that did not involve outside, and I ga- Ahh!” Citro yelled.
“What?” what’s going on?” Useri asked.
“A bit of the ceiling just fell on my leg; I’m fine; the ship’s coming apart, Lieutenant; we either do something now or hide in engineering until help arrives,” Citro explained.
“We mean it, Lieutenant; if you don’t make your mind up soon, we’ll be pulling speciality and making you do it,” Ewen added; she did not like the noises her corner of the Ever Watchful was making.
“How far away are we? Can they see us?” Useri asked.
“Not yet, but we should be coming in on their sensors; they know somethings out there, but they probably think we’re a rouge asteroid,” Neful explained, grimacing as the pain of her lost finger flared up.
Useri tapped his console; they could not slow down; if they did, the kireet would know they were not a piece of space debris.
He got what was left of the computer to run a few calculations and said, “Everyone gather what we need, and meet at the bow airlock! We will only have one shot at this.”

Useri kept his eye on the timer; the instant his stopwatch hit zero, he would open the door, and they would be jettisoned into space. Everyone was nervous and displaying every tick and twitch they had.
Neful constantly inspected the seal around her finger whilst reciting information from one of her many medical textbooks.
Juife kept clapping their hands.
Ewen whistled as Citro hummed; the two held one another ever so slightly so they would not be separated.
As for Useri, he was intensely focused on his breathing, keeping it under control.
The timer hit zero, “NOW!” he shouted and pushed the button.
If Useri had to describe what it felt like to be sucked into space, he supposed being caught in a stiff breeze would be the best equivalent.
The Senator’s Vessel blocked out most of the void, and Useri found it comforting, though he was unsure why. The ship was only visible due to the array of vision systems in their helmets, and as they came closer, Useri realised that it was difficult to judge distance.
Useri felt a flash of panic as he realised he was just a few seconds away from contact and shouted, “Mag boots, now!”
They struck the hull with a thud that sent shocks throughout their bodies; it was a horrible feeling.
“Is everyone here?” he asked.
He got confirmation from everyone and then ordered, “Find an airlock and fast; we don’t have long before cosmic rays give us radiation poisoning.”
The five started their search, and even though he knew he should not, Useri still took a moment to look into the vastness of space. This far from a planet, from a sun, you could see everything, nebula, the spiral arm of the galaxy and thousands upon thousands of stars in every direction.
It was unreal in a way, as though some artist had just crammed a painting with every conceivable space object they could think of, minus a planet naturally. It made Useri feel small and simultaneously like a giant.
For a second, he felt disorientated, as if his mind was attempting to leave his body, but he shook his head and got back to work.
For once, luck was on their side; Neful found an airlock just thirty seconds later.
“Citro, Ewen, get it open,” Useri said, and the engineers did not need to be told twice.
The pair had just opened the panel when Juife shouted, “Brace yourselves!”
Useri looked up to see what was left of the Ever Watchful crash and scraped against the kireet ship.
The vo’rul might have lost their balance had there been any gravity, and without their mag-boots, they would have been hurtling into space.
Once again, the vo’rul marines were grateful for their out-of-date equipment.
“They could not have failed to notice that,” Juife said as they watched what was left of their ship rebound off the enemy hull and slowly tumble into deep space.

They were in, and not a moment too soon, as the airlock began to repressurise, Neful’s wound seal fell off.
She slumped against the wall and asked, “Do you think we’ll get reprimanded for what we just did or giant medals?”
“Probably both,” Ewen replied, feeling the stress leave her body. She had no idea if that was true, but considering everything that had happened to them, sod’s law was probably a good jumping-off point.
“Ok, I’m on point; Ewen and Citro, you follow behind, Neful your next and Juife takes the rear,” Useri stated.
“We need to get to the bridge and get Basaof to call off his Frisds,” Useri added. “Ewen, Citro, can you disrupt the cameras? Every second of surprise we have is vital.”
The engineers rummaged through the bags they had brought; during the brief time to prepare, Ewen and Citro had grabbed pretty much everything they could stuff into them.
“Err, maybe,” Citro said as she grabbed a plasma torch and began burning a hole in the wall.
“How do you know where to cut?” Juife asked, looking away from the arc light; even with his helmet’s filters, it was painfully bright.
“I just think about if I was building this thing, where would I put the wires,” Citro explained, as a hole the size of an A4 piece of paper was made.
Ewen and Citro spent a good seven minutes inspecting the wires before Ewen said, “Should work, before grabbing the lot and yanking them.
Immediately the lights went out, and Useri asked, “What happened?”
“A lot of the wiring ran through this wall, and the corridor outside will be devoid of power, though we better get moving; a repair crew will be on their way soon,” Citro replied.
“That’s a pretty big design flaw,” Juife noted.
“It was probably done as a time saver; the people constructing this thing were probably not paid by the hour, so they just bundled all the wires together,” Ewen said.
“Mmm, just like the Ever Watchful,” Citro added.
As they left the airlock and stood in a dark corridor, Neful said, “Wait, our ship had the same problem?”
“Had, yes, it took me and Ewen months to rewire the ship, making every system in its own little bubble, and we reinforced the housing,” Citro explained.
“Good thing we did too, probably why so many of our systems still worked after we got shot,” Ewen added.
“You rewired the entire ship!” Neful stated in amazement.
“We had a lot of time on our hands,” Citro explained.
“You never told us you did that,” Juife said.
“Didn’t need to; it was mostly a maintenance issue, saved us looking through wire bundles if a system went down; besides, you all saw us do it, we assumed you knew,” Ewen explained.
Juife had seen the pair working throughout the Ever Watchful many time, but it all just blurred together in Juife’s mind.
“That’s enough chit-chat; we’re on the clock. Now get in formation!” Useri ordered.

Their goal was to locate the bridge; either they would find Basof there, or the Captain would know where he was.
They were cautious and methodical but not slow, and after thirty minutes of careful movement, they had located a layout of the ship. After a bit of decyphering, they learned that the bridge was three levels above them.
Getting there stealthily would not be easy; the more electronics they sabotaged, the more kireet were sent to investigate the problem. They had managed to avoid detection so far by copying Keoki’s tactics of using the vents.
“Shit!” Ewen shouted.
“What?” Useri demanded.
“I tripped an alarm trying to disable the cameras; they know someone’s interfering with security systems now, that it’s not just bad luck,” Ewen explained.
At that moment, all the lights went off, the gravity weakened, and emergency lighting engaged.
The auxiliary power came on three seconds later, and most systems returned to normal.
"What the desert was that?” Juife asked.
“Wasn’t us; I think the fusion plant just went offline,” Citro explained, twitching her tentacle in confusion.
“Why would they turn their own power off?” Neful asked, deeply confused.
Neither Ewen nor Citro had an answer, they could think of no reason to shut down your engines unless they were about to go critical, but the engineers had not seen anything to suggest that was happening.
One possibility was that someone had sabotaged it to prevent the Senator from escaping. “It could be the Captain, or Polumnus, maybe Qerik; they did say someone was captured,” Neful stated.
The vo’rul were tempted to open communication and know for sure, but with the Ever Watchful down, they could not encrypt it, and the kireet would know precisely what was happening.
Though it burned him to say it, Useri stated, “We can do nothing about it; we keep heading for the bridge; we will need the Grestu reigned in regardless.”

The Marines slowed their advance, taking every precaution not to be found. Eventually, their luck ran out, and on turning a corner, they stumbled, literally, into a kireet.
Useri attempted to restrain them, but the kireet was nimble, and all he achieved was to grab the radio dangling from their waist. Not what he wanted, but at least the kireet could not call for help.
“Stop them!” Useri ordered, and the chase began.
They followed the alien around two corners before they lost sight of them.
“Desert!” Useri exclaimed; the kireet would locate someone and put the whole ship on alert.
Suddenly that same alien emerged from a closet; Useri had just raised his weapon when to everyone’s amazement, Keoki and a choloshe burst from the same room and brought the kireet down.
Next Chapter