“Talon Tuesdays” is an article series appearing on InsideGMT periodically on Tuesdays.  It features articles from the Talon development team regarding the game’s design, development and upcoming release.

Issue #5

…And now the conclusion of Patton’s Story…

SPOILER ALERT:  The following is a SPOILER for the story of the scenarios covering the First Talon War.

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PATTON’S STORY PART TWO

December 22, 2227

You’re right Helena; I couldn’t imagine a more surprising friendship. Though I’ve found that sometimes the seeds of true connection are in how much a person can make you laugh. And you’ll remember, at your taking command party how Orson and Aminpour almost killed each other laughing. Or maybe you don’t. I remember almost nothing about my own party, still stunned at the orders I’d worked so hard and long for sitting in my suit pocket. Anyhow, let’s talk soon. I hope Patton is treating you as well as the Napoleon is treating me.

Clark Perriman sat and looked at the message on his tablet, thinking how dry it sounded to him given the emotions he felt for the woman who would read it soon. Well, two days from now given the usual delay between sending and receiving a message and the distance between Napoleon and Patton’s current patrol. He was convinced it was as much due to the government censors who combed through each message to make sure sensitive information wasn’t being exchanged as it was the purported technical reasons. As always, there was a confession he wanted to add at the end. And as always, he realized he wouldn’t send it. Maybe someday during a combined shore leave he would be able to say it face to face. As his finger moved towards the screen to send the message, a red flashing light came both from it and the panels in his room. “Red Alert. Captain to the bridge,” came the summons over his intercom. Message forgotten for the moment, he was out his door before the voice finished.

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“Report!” snapped Perriman as he stepped through the opened but secured door to the bridge. His eyes locked on the main viewscreen which showed both the Napoleon and the Zhukov, which had arrived earlier in the day to take over the patrol once a series of military exercises, had been completed between the two heavy cruisers. In addition to the icons showing the Terran cruisers, two more marked in yellow, indicating an unknown status, were approaching their position. These two new ships were well within the border of the Terran Confederation, and Perriman could hear his communications officer attempting to make contact.

Perriman’s first officer, Robert Molyneaux, moved to stand by the Captain’s chair as Perriman seated himself and swung the infor-mation panel across his lap. “Sir! The two contacts dropped into NFTL just inside our border and have been moving towards us ever since. I have Lieutenant Rogers analyzing the sensor readouts for any information we can gain on their tactical capabilities.”

“Thank you Robert.” Perriman quickly scanned the panel on his lap and proceeded to give orders to the crew. “Navigation. Please remember to maintain safe distance between us and Zhukov. I know we’ve practiced it, but things will feel much faster if it comes to battle.”

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And it did. The two Terran ships each focused on one of the enemy ships with their torpedoes and phasers, taking down their front shields, but the Zhukov found itself the target of both foes’ attacks and limped away from the first pass, shattered and with power relay problems that would limit its effectiveness in the rest of the battle. Captain Nguyen did however manage to get a shot through one of the enemy ships’ down shields with a phaser, and the cascade effect of the damage caused it to explode.

Perriman cursed as his attempt to bring Napoleon around to take a shot on the remaining enemy cruiser was foiled by a sudden burst of speed which brought Zhukov into range of its starboard disruptors. He cursed again as Zhukov blew up and Napoleon’s torpedo flashed harmlessly by the target.

The enemy ship fired its port disruptors. Perriman felt something smash into his head.

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“Captain? Do you remember what happened?”

“No,” said Perriman as he focused on the young nurse by his bed in sickbay. He knew instantly that he’d been badly injured if they’d had to use the ‘wide-awake’ stimulant to bring him out of a medically induced coma. It had the disorienting effect of bringing the patient wide awake instantly. He immediately scanned his extremities and was relieved they were all present.

“What happened?”

Ensign Derrin, Perriman remembered his name now, explained. “A piece of ceiling plating fell and hit you in the head. You had a massive concussion but somehow pulled off a maneuver to save the ship. At least that’s what others have said. You’ll probably remember it in time. It’s amazing you stayed conscious. The damage to your skull has been fixed.”

“How long?” asked the Captain?

“One week.” said Derrin, “Sir. I would normally insist that you rest at least one more week, but high command ordered you back to active duty as soon as possible.” He smiled somewhat apologetically, but Perriman could detect something beneath the smile: fear, anxiety, and sadness. “Sir, you have some reading to do.” He handed a tablet to the Captain.

Perriman saw a screen filled with official report titles, and he immediately knew what they signaled: war. He was about to start from the top when one further down caught his eye. It was one of the ones with a red dot next to the title, indicating the loss of one or more ships. His finger hovered above the line of text:

Patton at Base 395

After a long moment, he tapped the link and opened the report.

December 24, 2227 – Near Base 395

She had always heard that time slowed in battle, at least for those who showed an aptitude for it. Perhaps later she would be able to remember the events as a coherent whole, but instead moments flashed past even as they seemed to take forever.

“Hits on one of the frigates ma’am. It’s exploded, maybe damaged the one near it. I think our torpedo is gone for good though.”

“Mr. Denigo, can we destroy those missiles?”

“Negative ma’am! They will hit us before we can do so. And I do not think we can take the damage.”

The wild yell of triumph from Orson as the fighters from the Base 395 screamed past the Patton on both sides, shooting down the missiles, “Guardian Angels!” He flashed a wide grin at Aminpour across the bridge, and received one in turn.

Watching Asgard limp away from the just arrived Talon reinforcements, the smaller Terran light cruiser having done its best to distract the larger ship from its course towards Patton.

Shouting orders to use the battery to provide even more power to the supercomputer to calculate where ships would be in space a millisecond more quickly, just enough to let the her ship’s weapons gain a firing solution first and punch through the weak shields of the remaining enemy frigate. “I’m good at this.” she thought, with a mixture of pride and amazement.

And then the nearest enemy destroyer launched a missile.

Thoughts made connections in her mind as she watched the missile on the screen. How the weak side shields of the Talon ships made sense if they were meant to work together as a fleet, ships on the flanks protecting the center ships’ weak shields. How the ship they fought in the first battle was alone.

She watched as the missile approached, the fighter squadron trying to turn to line up a last desperate shot.

If the ships they’d encountered weren’t organized in fleets and yet the design of their ships indicated they worked best together in them, then did that mean they weren’t a fundamentally war like empire? That somehow this was all one misunderstanding? She knew she could be wrong, but she desperately wanted to think she wasn’t.

She watched as one of the fighters fired, and hit the missile, but didn’t destroy it. The missile grew in the view screen.

Earth’s history was replete with examples of former enemies becoming fast friends, their old arguments being forgotten. Perhaps one day members of the unnamed ship’s home worlds and the Terran Confederation’s would work together. She wished she could have lived long enough to see that day.

Captain Helena O’Brien watched the missile that was her and her crew’s death. The missile that was the death of hundreds of thousands more who could have been saved with the information in her ship’s databanks.

“The jerks…”

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