VARD SYSTEM
AMARR CONTESTED SPACE

Davo Styre missed his young wife. Correction; Davo Styre missed his young and beautiful wife very much. He had been a low level network administrator in some low level company in some low level life in his low level past. He and his wife had watched in silent horror as the events that transpired at Malkalen unfolded last year. They held each other close, looking for some sign of security in what was sure to become one of the greatest tragedies in New Eden.

When the Republic military started recruiting, there was no hesitation. Davo Styre knew he would do whatever he could to help bring the universe back to peace, and had enlisted immediately. Though afraid, his wife stood by her man offering all the support and encouragement he could ever have dreamed of.

His proficiencies shone, and Davo Styre made his way through the militia ranks quickly, currently a Lt. Commander in the Espionage division of the Republic Fleet. His duty was with the engineers; he was their hacking expert. It was their responsibility to takeover enemy complexes, securing them for the glory of the Republic.

Four months ago, he had started his tour with Colonel Roc Wieler. The man was already a legend amongst the lower ranking soldiers, and to be a part of his fleet daily filled Davo with great pride. Once again, his consistent work ethic and above normal abilities had been noticed, and he had become part of the Colonel’s personal flight crew.  

The warning alarms sounded again. They had thirty seconds to get to the docking tube. The Colonel was under attack. Only fifteen minutes earlier they had secured themselves to a minor facility in Vard, and disembarked into its bowels to do what it was they did. 

About three minutes ago, the explosions started. Distant, hollow sounding through the complex, but frightening just the same. The marine that accompanied Davo on every mission tapped his helmet beside his ear, then gave Davo the abort signal. It was time to go. 

He ran frantically through the hallways, trying to keep up with the marine, who seemed to know the route through this maze like he had been here a hundred times before. The complex shook, and Davo lost his footing, his jaw meeting the metal floor of the deck hard. His ears rang; his vision blurred, but he willed himself to stand and keep running. Forty seconds. He had no idea if that was enough time, but he knew Colonel Wieler would not leave without them. 

“Never leave a man behind.” was one of the Colonel’s rules, an ever-growing list of guidelines his fleets lived by. Davo staggered down the hallway, dizzy, his hand against the closest wall for support. He could see the marine gesturing at him with hand signals, getting smaller in the distance, but Davo didn’t know if he could keep going. He wanted to, and his body responded, even though his mind stayed dull and lethargic.

Another explosion sounded; this one much closer. Davo rounded a corner and saw the airlock. His heart swelled with hope; he was going to make it. Fifteen seconds left. 

The marine quickly equalized the pressure between the complex and the docking tube. He told him there was no time for spacesuits, he would just have to run for it. Davo understood. There were ten seconds left. He took off down the tube at a sprint, the marine right behind him, the airlock sealed on the complex side. He was twenty feet from the Renegade, twenty feet from safety. Another explosion sounded.

Davo felt weightless. It took his clouded mind too long to realize he was deaf; too long to realize the oxygen was being siphoned from his lungs at an alarming rate. He felt himself growing cold; tired. He could see the Renegade, shrinking in the distance, spinning ever so slowly. It was only then that he realized it was he himself spinning, in the emptiness of space. He could see the enemy Coercer passing by, strafing their ship, and watched in quiet fascination as the Renegade fully lit its engines, pulling away with dramatic speed from the complex, its artillery cannons continually firing at the enemy ship. 

Davo Styre missed his young wife. Correction; Davo Styre missed his young and beautiful wife very much.

—

“Keep on that Prophecy!”

“Those Omens are pounding us!”

“Punishers, closing fast!”

“Which of these are friendly Roc!?!”

“Someone jam that Apoc, take out its drones!”

—

Alistea Shire was a proud member of the Hellcats, one of the most notorious pirate corps in lowsec. They were as sleek and sexy as their ships. In a male dominated universe of capsuleers, the Hellcats were a powerful anomaly. Men often viewed them as their lessers, as objects to fill their sexual desires, as things of limited value and capability. Countless times over, the Hellcats had shown these “men” how very wrong they were in their misconceptions, whether it was relieving them of their ships, their loot, their love, or their lives.

Alistea served as chief gunnery officer aboard Shae Tiann’s cruiser class Thorax. And right now, it was taking everything she had to maintain order. They were taking heavy fire from the enemy Amarr ships, their shields were down, and their capacitor was leaking energy.

“Keep firing those neutron blasters!” she bellowed to her team. They would give everything they had. That is what their commander had always given to them; that is what they would always give to her. Another volley shook the ship, throwing several of them to the deck. Quickly, they scrambled to their feet, resuming their stations. The heavy neutron blasters continued pouring out anti-matter at the circling Crucifier frigates. They were hard to track, but she knew they could be taken down.

She turned her attention to her consoles. Another direct hit against the enemy. A few more solid shots and that would be one less thing to worry about. Alistea could see the Damage Control systems were losing ground. Power continued to drop, and soon they would need to manually cycle, meaning everything would power off for fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds was a helluva long time when under fire. She hoped to avoid that.

“Stagger fire, pattern delta fiver!” The staccato of the blasters continued on. It might not be much of a change, but it would give them a few more seconds of power to continue fighting, to continue living.

Her console showed an Inquisitor, coming in fast. She barked orders at her team, willing them to track it, but they could only do their best. The Inquisitor sped directly past them, strafing their armour plating. It would take a lot of luck for that frigate to punch through their plating and do any real damage to them.

Sadly, luck was not with the Hellcats that day.

One neutron blaster bay received a direct hit, exploding. The growing fireball instantly killed those closest to it, ravenously consuming all the available breathable air to sustain its newfound life. 

Alistea knew her duty. She turned to the console, and quickly sealed the thick bay doors to the interior of the ship. Without oxygen, the damage could be contained to her bank of weaponry. 

Turning away from the console, Alistea stood bravely against certain death. She didn’t cry. She didn’t cower. Rather, the last words on her lips as the fireball consumed them all was “YAAAARRRRRRR!”

—

“Shit! We lost Shae!”

“WTF? Roc, where’s our militia support?”

“I got one!”

“Don’t get penisy, kid.”

—

The corpse of Colonel Roc Wieler would have been such a prize. The Amarr scout chuckled at his own vanity. He had been so very foolish. Only one war target had shown insystem, and that was Roc Wieler. Only one complex had shown on his overview, a minor facility, and the scout knew that meant a very real chance of killing the Amarr’s hated enemy. His Punisher would’ve given Roc a run for his isk, and the glory of his corpse could’ve been his.

His desire had made him sloppy. He had warped directly to the entry gate for the minor facility. With only one war target insystem, he had been certain that Roc would be near the facility already. And he had been right.

His fatal mistake; his flawed assumption, was that Roc was alone. As he exited warp directly on top of the entry gate, he realized too late his error. A squad of pirates sat in perfect camping formation around the gate. His ears filled with the telltale sound of target locking. Immediately, his ship lurched, and he knew the familiar grasp of a webbifier. He watched as his engines strained hopelessly against a warp scrambler that had invisibly lassoed his ship. He checked his weapons systems; jammed. The battle was over before it had even began. He prayed to God; he prayed to the Empress; “Forgive me my arrogance.” 

The last thought to cross his mind before his ship was torn from around him was “Who would ever have thought that pirates would be what turned the tides of war? ”

—

“Jed? What are we doing?”

“Fight dammit! We stay!”

“Roger that, boss.”

“I’m podded!”

“My ship’s breaking up, I gotta warp out!”

“It’s ok Hallan. Get repaired, get back. We need you.”

“What are those Minnies doing?”

—

Roc Wieler felt the pit of his stomach drop even further from under him. He had just lost half of his crew. He didn’t need a crew to fly this frigate, but each loss of life of those under his command always left him with a sick feeling in his stomach.

Things had been going well. The Bastards were successfully holding their own against the Amarr forces, only slowly starting to lose ground. The Amarr simply had more forces available, and the Bastards were a long way from home.  He had a new respect for their abilities as a unit; they performed fleet maneuvers he had never seen, and were perfectly in sync one with the other. Their bond was not one of just profit as he had believed; their lives were not as carefree and reckless as he had seen; theirs was a family, and he found himself inspired and jealous of them.

He realized then what he needed to do. As an experienced fleet commander, he could see the end of a battle long before its participants could. The Bastards were going to lose this fight. 

Roc Wieler opened the Republic Intel Channel. IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE REQUIRED, VARD. MULTIPLE HOSTILES, BS, BC, FRIGS. 

He urged the Renegade to maximum velocity. It was time to do, or to die trying.