Two Birds and a Shotgun

        "Bolt actions speak louder than words." -- Doc Nickel

For a moment, the world spun around me, and I sought purchase at the open hatch to my pod. The last days had been … interesting. And tiring. Unless I was counting wrong, I had flown more sorties in the last four weeks than in the four months before that - and I was one of the lesser active pilots in the alliance at that time even!

These last two days had begun, harmlessly enough, with a Survival Seminar, offered as free service to all the new pilots which had recently joined our alliance. Initially I had paid only superficial attention, since the exercises were in high-sec and about things I already knew. But soon enough the group ventured into null-sec, allowing me to join, and then things got interesting. And for once, our so far impressive pod-extraction record took a ding, as our pods were picked off here and there.

I expected it to end there, but Greygal had other ideas.

[ While we’re pretty much done here, I have received word that APOC is doing a structure shoot somewhat away from here. It would be a good idea to help them, especially since they helped us in our recent diplomatic … issues. Any takers? ]

And of course there were takers! Given our fleet members, we wouldn’t be able to provide large DPS - but stealth bombers are not to be sneezed at. So we began the long trek to Gyerzen, hoping that we would arrive in time to at least do some token damage to that POS.

And damage we did! And since we were there, we went on to help APOC in reinforcing a POCO in the same system as well.

And because we had reinforced it, why not stay around a little bit longer to finish it off?

And thus, bit by bit, a short trip to provide some firepower turned into a two-day engagement.

Luckily Eta had been gracious enough to ferry one of my old structure-shoot battleships to the target system, but even with the more sustained firepower of my sentry Dominix, it made for a long day. In fact, I didn’t remember the last time I had a proper night’s rest.

No wonder I was woozy.

Carefully, I opened my eyes, and found that the world had decided to finally settle down in a definitive place. Letting go of my pod, I walked towards the bunk in my Captain’s Quarters, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to make my way to my actual quarters on this station at that point.

But as I carefully took my steps towards relaxation, an unbidden thought rose in my mind: while all the recent sorties had been important, and exciting, and in certain ways influential, they were also blurring together. I used to be able to recall sorties by singular fights I engaged in - but not anymore.

Maybe it was just me growing up, looking at the bigger picture - but suddenly I couldn’t help feeling that I was losing something important.

And I was missing it.

Fisticuffs - The Last Day

        “I am good at making tin foil hats. Please do not force me to use that skill.”

         -- Mike Azariah

“What do you think - will there be an operation today?”, someone asked.

It was good question. Ever since our POCO got re-reinforced, Greygal and Onslaughtor had engaged in a flurry of diplomacy, and even right then they were holed up in what we called A Very Dark Room. I sincerely hoped that there would be a peaceful resolution, as our numbers tonight were not quite as stellar as previously.

Though… looking around a room there were a number of faces I did not recognize - friends of friends, willing to lend a hand just because they could.

…hold on a second - that Gallente over there, he looked familiar. I got up and casually ambled over to him, to take a closer look. Indeed!

“Mike! Mike Azariah!”

The Gallente looked up. “Yes, that’s me; do I know you? …oh, Druur! It has been a while!” He paused, and cocked his head to look around me. “Are you…”

“…alone?” I completed his sentence. “Yep - no angry industrialist eager to punch you with me this day.”

“Why would anybody want to punch him?”, asked a pilot nearby.

Mike rose to answer, but suddenly the lights in the room dimmed.

The door to the Very Dark Room had opened, and darkness was spilling out. Out of the gloom, our intrepid leaders emerged. I relaxed - they looked somewhat calm, so things seem to have gone well. Chatter in the room died down, until everybody was looking at the two.

“Right,” began Greygal, “The good news is that the attack was - once more - not an officially sanctioned operation, nor was the fleet even listed on their boards. A truly private endeavor. Talking to the fleet commander, it was a case of mistaken identity.” She sighed. “I don’t quite believe that, but whatever let’s them save face.

”I got the assurance that their fleet won’t interfere with our repair operation, and in fact we may come to an agreement to not attack each other’s structures in this area.“ A smile crept on her face. ”I know, it’s a bummer, given how much we looove structure grinds.“

”The bad news,“ continued Onslaughtor, ”is that other people might interfere. It is unlikely, but we need a few combat ships to fly screen.“

I raised my hand. ”Rupture!“ Not that I had to think about it - I was horrible in Logistic ships.

Next to me, Mike raised his hand as well. ”Would you like a perfect Scimitar?“

Greygal scanned the crowd, and then beamed. ”Of course we’d like a perfect Scimitar, Mike. I’m glad that you made it!“

”How could I stay away?“

”Some of you may not know him,“ addressed Greygal the whole room, ”but this is Mike Azariah, currently on the CSM.“

One of our younger pilots had a question. ”What is the CSM?“

Mike looked at Greygal. ”May I answer that?“

”Of course.“

Mike took a breath. ”I have to go back in time a bit for this one. Several years ago…“

While Mike continued talking, I got up and made my way to the exit, to get my Rupture out ahead of the fleet. And fight or not, comms would be interesting that evening.