NEW YEAR’S DAY
“… I repeat, we require reinforcements… TLF Command ship … Sleipnir … Matar Colonel … AARRGGHH!!”
That was the last transmission the Angel Cartel battleship captain had been able to make. Ordinarily, we didn’t bother helping the other pirate factions; life in New Eden was harsh enough without inviting trouble, but the prospect of taking down a Matar Colonel of the Tribal Liberation Force in Amamake was hard to resist. Of course, the whole thing could’ve been a setup, as every respectable pirate changed his frequencies weekly, and nobody spent long in the hellhole that was Amamake.
“Whadda ya think, Eddie?” I asked, not wanting to make the decision myself, not that I could. The Wrath of Fenris had proven to be a good fit for me given my past, but I still didn’t want to push my luck and piss off the bosses. I worked hard to gain honour among these brothers, but trust was a fickle commodity at best; you could spend years earning it, then lose it all with one bad decision.
“I dunno, Loren.” Eddie replied, a cautious tone to his voice. “Think you can scan him down?” The Wrath of Fenris made their home elsewhere, but Amamake was a common stomping ground for us. There was always something going down in Amamake.
I took that as a personal challenge. My scanning skills were unmatched in our regular fleet. “You’d better be ready to warp in when I tackle this sunuvabitch.”
The TLF had been a pain in all of our asses with their anti-pirate campaign, led by that cock sure Brutor faggot Roc Wieler. And while we managed to still turn a good profit, we had to constantly look over our shoulders more than ever before. What I wouldn’t have given to have five minutes alone with him.
“Oh, we’ll all be ready.” Eddie replied, the fleet commander for our current roaming gang of 37 ships. We were more of a blob really, but we didn’t care. Might made right. We didn’t get bothered much by the Amarr or the Minmatar, and if you really had a force that could match us, you’d be in for one helluva fight, that was for certain.
It only took me a few minutes to scan down the Sleipnir, and once I had him, I let the rest of the fleet know. “Ready to me, I’m warping in now.” With that, I set myself into motion.
The adrenaline always pumped through my veins, pod pilot or not, when warping in to tackle an unsuspecting target. There were so many variables involved; it could go horribly wrong so many ways.
I eased out of warp right on top of … Matar Colonel Roc Wieler! I couldn’t believe my good stroke of fortune! I immediately started my slow target lock, pushing forward to close the range between myself and his artillery cannons.
He launched his Valkyrie II drones quickly, and began slowly aligning on an escape vector. His first volley nearly tore my shields away, but they held, and I was in scram range. I hoped I wasn’t too late.
The scramble held. I had Matar Colonel Roc Wieler in my sights. His drones quickly pulled me out of my star gazing, and I immediately flagged the fleet. “Warp to me! Warp to me! I got point!”
Seconds later, I relaxed, as the entire fleet arrived. All 37 of us angled for a shot against the famed Roc Wieler. Unfortunately, even with an impressive shield booster, his Sleipnir, the Onslaught, collapsed quickly, resulting in a killmail for only nine of us.
We tried to lock his pod, but the good Colonel had kept his wits about him, and managed to escape from us … this time.
I had my computer do a rundown of the ship fit and amount of isk lost, and was surprised to see the number keep rising until it finally settled at 1.6 billion isk. What the hell had he fit on that ship?!?
Some of the fleet followed possible trajectories, hoping to catch him in his pod, but I knew they would fail. Others stayed behind to loot the wreck, myself included.
We divided the loot as we always did, but I have to admit that I kept a little something for myself. In the midst of the wreckage, floating through space, was a scrap of flimsiplast. I scooped it up, laughing at the vanity of the title “Rocalicious Calendar”. Only the month of January had remained intact, but I decided to keep it, more as a joke with myself than anything, of how celebrities were truly overrated.
Happy New Year, Colonel Wieler! Thanks for flying overpriced garbage.